#I see a vaguely threatening pretty boy and I get weak

[vt-scribbles]

'Imma fuck you up'

[preeningpisces]

pleaaase could we get some more choso stuff? maybe some more nsfw headcanons if you have them or if not then some drabble of him being a Little Freak (endearing)?? anything that you'd feel like tbh <33

Omfg of course!! I actually have a lil fic I’m working on for him rn, so hopefully I won’t take too much longer. Love me some freak Choso. Thank you for taking the time to send this!

Hopefully this isn't too weird, lol

Choso being a lil freak

Content: fingering, masturbation, handjob, mild dacryphilia, ear eating, saliva, use of good boy and baby

18+ content below, mdni, afab!reader, enjoy!

The TV drones in the background as you scroll through your phone, leaning into the arm of the couch. Anxious anticipation rolls off your boyfriend. You don’t have to look to know he’s fidgeting with the blanket, trying his best to focus on the show—an episode of How It’s Made, his favorite. It’s obvious what he wants, it’s what he always wants when you’re around, but he remains bashful nonetheless. Amused, you let him stew in discomfort, wanting to see how long it takes for him to crack.

He adjusts himself and scoots closer to you, in what you think was an attempt at subtly. A smirk threatens to split your mouth, and you can feel your lips wobble from the effort of resisting. What was once fiddling with the blanket becomes a bouncing leg, drumming fingers, and more frequent glances. Laughter presses against the seam of your lips when he sighs, but you keep it at bay. You’re as focused on your phone as he is on the TV; his energy is contagious and makes your desire spark. But right now, you just want to antagonize him.

Sex is a recent development in your relationship, and ever since you gave Choso the keys to the kingdom, he wants it all the time. Not that you mind. Introducing your boyfriend to sex in all its forms has been fun, to say the least. This isn’t cruelty: you’re just building his confidence to initiate, you tell yourself. Not two minutes later, he says your name in question. Innocently, you set your phone aside, giving him your full attention.

“Do you…?”

“Do I what, Choso?” It’s clear he didn’t anticipate any pushback, because looks ready to retreat.

“Can we?” His stare is intense and imploring as he rests a hand on your knee.

“Oh, I don’t know, this article is pretty interesting” — a lie. When he deflates with puppy eyes, you feel too guilty to not throw him a bone. “But I could be persuaded.” Confusion flits over his face; he really does need everything laid out for him, doesn’t he? “I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, unless something more tempting comes along,” you say, and with no further explanation, return to your scrolling. You know this worked even though he hasn’t moved, because he’s wringing his hands and mulling over his next step.

Maybe you are cruel. Just a bit.

An unsure arm winds around your hip, and pulls you away from the armrest to sit upright. With a delicate press to your jaw, he turns your head to kiss him, but you pull back.

“Ah, ah—you can’t turn me away or block the screen.” Now understanding the game, he nods with wide eyes. “Good boy.” Excited, he sits right next to you, but doesn’t remove his hold on your hip. Hesitant kisses tickle your jaw and neck—more endearing than distracting. The complete lack of reaction prompts Choso to trail from your jaw to your chest, and cup your right breast.

A post makes you laugh, and you feel him bristle beside you. Riled up, he squeezes your breast harder than you thought he would, and goes for your nipple. Choso absolutely loves your breasts, it’s no shock he sought them out first. What is shocking is how aggressively he’s touching them. Normally, his touch is irreverent and pleading. A weak pinch makes you flinch, but you keep your focus.

“Is that okay?” 

“All I said is you can’t turn me or block the screen,” you say vaguely, allowing his imagination to fill in the rest. A sharp pinch is his reply, making you gasp. Tentative kisses are forgotten as he breathes into your ear, now more focused on the weight in his hand. Wearing no bra, there’s only a thin t-shirt between you and his fondling; rolling your nipple around and tugging it occasionally. As if just remembering he has one, he mouths at your jaw, and gently nips at your ear. The sweet attention makes you hum, your eyes hooded as you lazily continue scrolling, barely paying attention to what you see.

Suddenly, the kisses stop, and his hold on you relaxes. You fight the urge to look at him. Is this his way of playing, or is something wrong? Before you can ask, his lips rest at your ear, barely touching. Anticipation stills your shoulders, and you stare at the screen blankly as you wait for him to do something. Those lips press against your ear, and stop, gauging your reaction. When there is none, he kisses your ear fully, gently.

You expect him to move on, but one kiss becomes two, then three, then doesn’t stop at all; his head angles, and his kiss becomes more passionate, fully making out with your ear now. It tingles, and despite your bewilderment, you let out a breathy whine. Emboldened, he introduces his tongue, which licks at the planes and ridges. Cheeks hot and appalled, you shriek his name—he squeezes your hip so hard it could bruise.

Normally, he would release you and frantically make sure you’re alright, but your taunting must have affected him more than expected.The odd sensation makes you squirm, but you stubbornly grip your phone, and don’t turn to him. This only cues him to pull at your nipple with a twist, making you arch and moan.

He’s quick to move on; his hand dips under the waistband of your sweats, then your panties, and wastes no time rubbing soft circles around your clit. As if touching your pussy wasn’t enough, his tongue dips into your ear’s canal, making you nearly drop your phone. It doesn’t go far, but enough that it’s oddly sensitive. Sounds cut in and out, like you’ve dived into a pool and swam back up. Embarrassingly, you feel yourself throb.

“You’re really wet,” Choso says, and immediately returns to assaulting your ear. His bluntness only makes you more mortified, and the nerves in your neck and jaw prickle. The attentive circles are consistent, and keep a steady pace, which only drives you crazy, noises spilling from you freely. With his mouth covering your ear, you can’t tell how loud you are—every sound you make blares internally, as if you’re listening to yourself through earbuds. Your sounds arouse more of his own, overwhelming your mind. You can’t even hear the TV anymore, or the sticky sounds you know your pussy is making.

So enwrapped in pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed Choso was humping the air, his moans somehow both stifled and amplified. Unable to resist, you toss your phone and cup his bulge, letting him grind into your hand. Abandoning your hip, he helps you slide his sweats and boxers down his hips, cock twitching with need once it's exposed to the cool air. You wrap you hand around his cock and stroke him making his legs tremble. The hand previously on your hip winds back around you to continue stroking your clit, while the other slides two fingers in your needy cunt. 

“Oh, fuck–oh fuck,” you belt, grinding against his hands, helping him find your g-spot. When he grazes it, you shout his name, and he strokes it with every thrust of his fingers. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The steady pace fumbles when you spit in your palm and continue stroking him. He chokes on a gasp and sucks the shell of your ear in his mouth; it’s the most you’ve been able to hear since he began, but the leftover saliva prevents you from hearing clearly. You twist slightly as you stroke upward, squeezing near his head. Even with the lingering saliva, you’re finally blessed with the wet sounds of his cock and your pussy.

“Please—ah—please cum,” his high-pitched and needy voice doesn’t match the way he roughly fingerfucks your pussy, stretching it with spread fingers and pushing your hood back to attack your clit. Overwhelmed, you shiver as you approach your release; it isn’t until he resumes his lip lock with your ear and tongues at the canal that you come with a keen. “T-that’s it, you look so pretty when you c-cum.”

Your body locks up as your stomach twists from the convulsions, and your pussy clenches around him nonstop, but he doesn’t let up until you still. He covers your limp hand with his own, and he pumps his cock furiously, chasing his end. Gripping one of his buns, you smash your lips together. Distantly, you expected a waxy taste, but were relieved to find none. Tongues graze, drool pools, and he makes debauched sounds when you pinch his tongue between your fingers.

“Are you gonna cum?” You pull his tongue tauntingly and squeeze around his cock. When he nods instead of answering, you pinch it harder, and his cheeks go redder than you’ve ever seen them.

“Yeth, I’-I-” he lets out long, continuous whimpers as he comes. Sensitive, he removes his hand, but you grip his wrist and make him stroke himself through it, thick cum leaking over your joined hands. Tears and drool roll down his face, but you keep stroking his cock with a sickening squelch. 

It’s only when he stops leaking cum that you release him, soothing him with kisses to his wet cheek before fetching the nearby water. The two of you lay against each other, now winded.

“I’m just going to address the elephant in the room: why did you stick your tongue in my ear?”

“You wouldn’t let me kiss you,” he shrugs, as if it was obvious. “I’m glad you liked it, though.”

“I did not!”

“Okay, if saying that makes you feel be-” you smother him with a throw pillow. 

Next time, you’ll think twice before giving Choso the reins to do whatever he wants. 

[businesstiramisu]

@canyourfavesurvivecastledracula -- I'm trying out the "argue at you" approach. tagging you b/c you don't have submissions open and I think this long enough to be an annoying ask. I don't think you know or care about this character, but *I* do, so here's my argument :P

Can Alphonse Elric survive Castle Dracula?

[the answer depends a LOT on which part of which canon we're using, but we're going to go vaguely with "middle part". That is to say, armor]

Al has one HUGE advantage against Dracula, which is that he has no corporeal human body (for now). He's not completely free of blood though -- if Dracula learns about the blood seal tethering his soul to this mortal plane, I fully believe he's learned enough Dark Magicks at Scholomance to fuck it up. So the question is, would he find out? Al is usually pretty good at hiding it… unless he just decides to tell people. So it depends on how their dynamic plays out.

Al would accept the crucifix from the townsfolk, and listen to their other advice. Even if he doesn't believe them, he's a polite boy, and you never know what information might be useful! Maybe their folktales have clues about the Philosopher's Stone, you never know. (Also in one version of canon he can understand German, so let's say language barriers aren't an issue.)

Dracula is bemused when an alchemist in full plate armor turns up asking to see his library instead of the solicitor he requested. Alchemists? He hasn't run into any of those in a while. But hey, the lawyer's not here yet, he's got time to fuck with this guy and have an extra snack.

The shaving incident wouldn't happen obviously, but Dracula might realize something is amiss because Al doesn't sleep. Or will he? Does Dracula pay enough attention to know when normal humans should be sleeping and Al isn't? If so, he will probably investigate, push boundaries, or stage a confrontation until he finds out Al's deal, and then he will be PISSED. No lawyer, and now no snack! This is bullshit! From here on out, it's WAR. If not, then...

If Al realizes this is a kidnapping and not a library loan, he will play along. He might not even mind. He's been kidnapped before, and it always worked out fine. Dracula might be more creepy and threatening than his other kidnappers, but Al's dealt with a wide variety of creepy and threatening in his quest, I just don't think he'd be fazed. And he is, as already mentioned, a polite person who would want to be a respectful guest! Hmm kinda creepy that he just implied I'll never leave this place alive... oh well! Nice table setting, sir, compliments to your staff.

Being a respectful guest might not extend to staying in his room as instructed; he's a curious guy and only a stickler for the rules compared to his brother. The girlies aren't a problem for him, because he's still wearing the crucifix, but they might clue him in that Something Is Wrong and lead to Al himself forcing a confrontation with Dracula.

But even if everything goes smoothly, Al would eventually get bored with Dracula's library (if there was anything useful about the Philosopher's Stone in there, Dracula wouldn't be a vampire). At some point, Al would decide this kidnapping is over, and he would provoke the confrontation in trying to leave.

I haven't written any reason for Al to tell Dracula about his fatal weakness, so I'm gonna say Dracula can't actually do much to Al; but unfortunately I don't think Al can harm Dracula either. I don't actually remember what allowed Jonathan to hit him with a shovel but I think it involved special circumstances that do not apply to Al. However, Dracula also can't prevent Al from leaving -- neither thousand foot cliffs nor wolves are much of an obstacle to him. (Well actually, if you physically overpower him and take the armor apart, he can't walk away -- but people almost never think of that, and Dracula probably won't either.)

Which is all to say that Alphonse can survive Castle Dracula, but he probably won't have as much useful intel as Jonathan did. Mind you, he took notes! He just didn't get personal experience with as many of Dracula's powers.

And of course, his goal after this is to track down his brother -- if anyone can figure out how to kill a vampire it's Ed. Where the fuck did he get to, anyways? He'd better not be stranded in Weimar Germany. Al can absolutely walk to Munich from here, but waiting around 25-30 years for Ed to turn up would be a drag.

[bluemidnightmelody]

lover/fighter - my favorite moments

[Little snippets from my Finnick/OC longfic that are stuck in my head]

From Chapter 43 - My crying hero

Finnick licks his lips and sighs softly before facing the icy sea of her eyes. "It's not quite over, but for us it is," he explains. It is both doom and salvation. He constantly longs for it to finally be over, but the end always means defeat in a way, a failure for him.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry." Rhea suddenly seems to forget her own worries and all that remains is sympathy. Even if his wording was more than vague, it can only be interpreted in one way. Hector has died. If she was feeling better, she should have realized it sooner, because if he was still a mentor, he wouldn't be here, he would be fulfilling his duties.

"Yes, me too," he replies weakly. It came as such a surprise after he'd spent the last three days preoccupied with nothing but Hector. Of course, he always takes his task seriously, but this time the fact that he needed to somehow distract himself from Rhea was also a factor. To stop his thoughts from running amok in his head, he poured all his energy into Hector and convinced himself more than ever that he would get the boy out of the arena alive. It all looked good until the wind suddenly changed.

"It only happened just now, and I couldn't bear to go back. Then somehow I ended up here." He has to turn his head away as his self-control threatens to go. Saying it out loud makes it so much worse, plus the overwhelming exhaustion and still very fresh emotional stress from the service he's done for Ambrose.

The only person who has seen him cry in years is Mags, but that could be about to change as his eyes are already getting moist. Even in front of Annie he pulls himself together, because there's no way she needs to see him like this, but at home in District 4 it's usually easier than here.

Otherwise, he manages to escape into some dark corner, at least for such weak moments. Now he has neither the opportunity nor the strength to run away while Rhea pulls him close this time. The result is that they are now sitting intertwined on the sofa, with her half-sitting on his lap, hugging him to her chest and gently running her fingers through the soft hair above his neck as he is wrapped around her, both to keep her from falling off and to keep himself grounded.

"It's not your fault," she whispers somewhere near his ear. She doesn't need to know what's really going on in his head, because the guilt he's radiating is almost palpable. Somewhere in the back of her mind is the question of where exactly he came from when he says he didn't want to go back. What could have prompted him to leave the Victory Building despite the mentoring, especially while Hector's situation is uncertain? The answer is pretty obvious and only makes it worse.

Finnick can just about hold back the emotional outburst but balances on the very edge of a ledge. He feels his fluttering breath, which he can't calm, and stammers with difficulty, "But it kind of is." His tribute needed him, and he wasn't there.

Rhea bites her lip, and she feels the trembling in his back as she strokes it gently in an attempt to calm him. The worst state she has seen him in so far was when she had to rescue him from that nightclub, but tonight probably supersedes that memory. When she reviews it all again, it's actually amazing how often she's seen him in such weak and vulnerable moments, but he's never been as close to her as he is now. It's not that she felt any less sorry for him back then, it's just different now.

Now and here, she has to admit to herself once and for all that there is nothing professional about this relationship anymore. There is not a shred of distance left, which is proven by the fact that Finnick is now emotionally closer to her than any of her friends. That doesn't mean they're any less important to her, it's just not the same.

"No. It isn't. You tried to save them and if you couldn't, no one else could have," she replies with honest conviction. Anyone would be lucky to have him as a mentor, as distorted as that may be, because she knows by now that there's probably nothing he wouldn't do to fulfill this task. She may not like it, but it is a fact that he will never be able to blame himself for not living up to his responsibilities.

"You are amazing. You have no idea how much."

They have already strayed so far from the path of a healthy relationship between doctor and patient that it makes no sense to hold on to it any longer. She'll happily leave the field entirely to Linus because, if she's honest, he's probably already doing most of her job as far as Finnick is concerned. It's certainly better this way, because otherwise it could all go in an unpleasant direction very quickly. On paper, everything can remain as it is, but the simple truth is that this has become something thoroughly personal and there's no point in trying to put any useless labels on it. There is no definition and therefore no standard procedure or behavioral protocol to follow or hold them back.

Finnick slowly understands what has actually brought him here. Getting the comfort he craves feels good and there seems nothing wrong with burying his face in her soft sweater. It's nice to be treated so tenderly, the way she plays with his hair, just the way he likes it, the way she smells so sweetly of vanilla, just like her whole home. "At the risk of coming across as conceited, can you please say that again?"

It doesn't sound the slightest bit conceited. It just sounds like someone who desperately needs some words of encouragement to avoid succumbing to the feeling of worthlessness that haunts them. She used to sound like that herself, and probably still does from time to time. "You're amazing, and trustworthy, and selfless, and anyone who thinks you wouldn't have done everything for this is an idiot," she says openly, and with enough emphasis to make it clear that these are not just empty words. "That also includes you, by the way. So, if you don't trust yourself, then believe me. I promised not to lie, and I know you've really done absolutely everything." And she comforts herself with the fact that it's really not a lie, even if she doesn't dare to speak the whole truth.

He has done truly everything, even if it means throwing away his own self-esteem for it. It's admirable in the most horrible way, what he willingly sacrifices for a game he knows no one can ever win. He deserves so much better than what this life is forcing on him.

She can feel it on her shoulder even before she hears it in his voice. Finnick has lost the battle with himself and can't stop the tears dampening the fabric of her sweater. "You're not so bad at this anymore," he replies, even if he has trouble getting the words out because of the lump in his throat.

Rhea remembers the conversation in District 4 when she told him how bad she was at comforting people. The truth is that it depends on the reason why someone feels bad. She's actually very empathetic, it's just that when it comes to topics where her eloquence fails, she sometimes looks a bit lost. But it is much more significant that he still remembers this. She doesn't realize it for the first time, but he seems to remember everything she's ever said to him, and she likes it when people can listen, really listen. "Yeah, and I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not even at my best right now," she remarks in an attempt to lighten the mood. He's usually so good at it, but today she has to take it from him.

It actually elicits a small laugh from Finnick, even if it almost sounds like a sob. "You've been practicing in secret, haven't you?" he asks, and you can detect the tiniest bit of amusement in his voice beneath the heavy layers of sadness, but that's enough for now.

"Just for you. You can feel honored," she counters the assertion with a light laugh. She can laugh again, she feels so much better, even though tears are now welling up in her eyes as well. It's so easy to make her cry at the moment, but this time she's not even sure if she's crying because she's sad or if something else has triggered it. What does it really matter?

Links to all the chapters: lover/fighter - Chapter Index

fanfiction on ao3 and wattpad

[fablewritesnonsense]

Lost in the Commonwealth

Chapter 9: Broken Clocks

“A little birdie told me you spent the entire afternoon entertaining Kent with the Silver Shroud,” Hancock said, sidling up next to them at the bar at the third Rail. Bentley nodded.

“It was nice,” they admitted, and a bittersweet memory rose to mind. “I uh, my… god it’s not going to get any easier saying this. My late husband and I met when we were young, attending a live showing. We had seats right next to each other, his buddies left to do some Jet part way through and my date fell asleep. So he and I were excitedly whispering to each other. When the show was over, I just left my date there and went to get a Nuka-Cola with him. We talked about our favorite episodes and got so deep into theories that I was out so far past my curfew that my parents came looking for me.”

Hancock looked at them sadly, with a hint of a smile.

“That’s a beautiful memory, it seems you two had something special. But, I’m sure he’s glad you’re out here looking for your son, he’d be proud of you,” Hancock said, and Bentley felt their gut twist. They propped their head up in their hands and gave a shaky sigh.

“Maybe, but he should be the one here, not me,” they said.

“Now don’t say that,” Hancock said, leaning over and putting a hand on their shoulder. “Oh, that’s three bottles, come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

He gently led them upstairs, and they lost track of the number of stairs, but after a moment they were sitting in one of the State House rooms in a plush chair, and cracked a window open next to them.

"Do you know what a lawyer is?" They asked him as he took a seat across from them.

"I have a vague idea," he said, grabbing a Nuka-Cola out of a cooler and handing it over to them.

"I used to be a lawyer," they said. "Went to school for it and everything. Never thought I'd see a day where a law degree would be worthless but here we are. It requires you to be smart enough to know the laws and to be persuasive enough to convince about two dozen people not to put your client. Or deceptive enough in some cases."

"Sounds like politicians," Hancock snorted.

"Many politicians had law degrees. It was by no means a job requirement but," they shrugged. "But, that skillset is all but useless here. But Nate, he was a war hero-" their voice broke and they took a moment to compose themself.

"Before Shaun was born, he was in the army. He was highly decorated and… he would be able to handle this world so much better than I've been able to," they said with a sigh, falling back into the chair. "If I'd been the one to grab Shaun, he'd be the one looking for him. He might have already found him by now and they'd be back in Sanctuary in our old house with a lovely life getting the Minutemen back on track. Meanwhile I'm here and it's been two months and I have nothing to show for it."

"Survivor's guilt is a bitch," Hancock said with a heavy sigh. "Bentley, if your husband loved you half as much as you seem to have loved him… Had he survived, he would be singing the same song. Wishing you'd been the one to survive to find your boy. But you're here, and he's on the other side glad you survived and are doing everything you can to find him.

"Fuck, if I were in your position I'd have given up. You don't know when he was taken or where he was taken or by who, but you're still going. Bobby was telling me you had a small panic attack after fighting that first batch of super mutants but you still made sure he and Dogmeat got into Diamond City first. He said you were ready to go down fighting Swan, when the rest of us would have just given up and let it happen. I saw you threaten to take Finn's balls off then almost pass out when I killed him. You're not weak, not by any means. You're just overwhelmed… Shit don't go crying on me now, I can handle pretty faces crying like that."

Bentley gave a wet laugh and smiled at him, and he smiled back warmly.

"Thanks," they managed after a moment. "I don't feel strong but, thanks."

"I don't think anyone worth a shit actually feels strong," he sighed. "If you feel strong then you're full of yourself. Knowing you've got your weaknesses, and going forward anyways, that's strength."

Bentley smiled, pulling their legs up underneath their skirt and holding them close.

"Did you learn that the hard way or did you learn from someone else's mistakes?" They asked softly.

"Bit'a both," he said. "But it got me here, wouldn't have it any other way."

***

In that room, those two chairs, sitting across from Hancock, Bentley found a bit of peace and began building themself together. He sat and listened as they worked out the barbs that had dug into their soul, and helped them come to grips with the world. With the future they’d been thrust into. Occasionally offering the odd piece of advice while looking at them with a look in his eyes that they couldn’t quite understand.

Eventually, their caps began running out, and they realized they had been there for over two weeks.

“Daisy, you wouldn’t have any work I could take up, would you?” they asked one day, and the ghoul looked at them in surprise.

“I have something, you’re not going to like it,” she replied with a wry grin. “Honestly honey, you’re not going to like any work you find here in Goodneighbor.”

“I need caps,” they said with a shrug.

“Well, you know the Boston library?” she asked.

“Yeah, spent a bunch of long days studying there,” they replied. “Back in college.”

“Well, it’s currently over-run with Super mutants, yeah that’s about the face I was expecting,” Daisy laughed as their eyes popped open. “Yeah, I was going to pay MacCready to go clear it out for me, but he hasn’t come out of the Third Rail lately. It’s yours if you want it.”

“I’m going to have to think it over…” Bentley breathed, and Daisy laughed.

“No worries honey, why not go ask Hancock? I’m sure he’ll find some excuse to give you some caps,” she teased. Bentley rolled their eyes and walked out, thinking about how if they could just get back to Sanctuary, they’d have their stash of chem ingredients. Goodneighbor was a solid place to sell them, even if part of them was still remembering when that was extremely against the law.

“You’re looking better,” MacCready said, from their left. They looked up as he walked through the front gates, a hefty bag over his shoulder.

“Thanks, I didn’t realize you’d left town,” they said.

“Yeah, had some errands to run,” he grunted, dropping the bag to the ground as various residents started trotting up. They heard the state house open up behind, and MacCready produced a stack of papers from the bag. “The kid’s taken over the paper last week and oh my god some of this stuff is pure gold.” Hancock chuckled, taking the stack away.

“And as for you,” MacCready said, pulling a note out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Bentley. They frowned as they took it. “You didn’t mention you’d been leading the Minutemen, they’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“Ha! They like me more, I already knew,” Hancock teased MacCready while Bentley read over the note from Garvey.

“Shit, yeah, I told them I’d be back soon or send word…” they muttered.

“I sent word back with the guy I ran across that you were safe in Goodneighbor recovering after a nasty run-in with Swan. Don’t worry, I made you sound way cooler,” MacCready said, poking them in the arm. They took the top paper and whacked him across the arm.

“Don’t go putting ideas in their head, I’ve heard of the shit that hangs around their old fortress,” they grumbled. Hancock grinned at them as they replaced the paper. “I’m going to have to leave soon, I forgot all about Nick and I was supposed to meet him in Diamond City three weeks ago.”

“Hey now, you seemed so confident a second ago, what happened?” MacCready asked, handing off the bag to someone else. Bentley snorted and waved at the doors.

“Out there I’m a goddamn disaster. I got lost three times before I ended up here, I almost died ten times, and I would have died two of those times if you hadn’t been there,” Their head began to swim as panic set in. Hancock took their shoulder and squeezed it, which brought them back to earth.

“Hey, you’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said. “Tell you what, go get everything together, and I’ll make arrangements for you, yeah?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Nope, but I want to. Just gotta make sure you swing by here pretty often and say hi,” he said, squeezing their shoulder again. They gave him a grateful smile and nodded.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate this,” they breathed. He let go, and watched them run off with Dogmeat at their heels.

“I don’t envy whoever’s stuck with them,” MacCready muttered. HAncock reached over and took the younger man by the scruff of the neck and led him into the state house.

“Well today’s your lucky day,” Hancock said.

“Oh for f- really Hancock?” MacCrady snapped as he was dragged upstairs.

“Yup,” Hancock said, depositing him in the chair in front of his desk. He turned and leaned against it, and looked at MacCready, who raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

“No, I don’t do charity work, Hancock,” MacCready said with a laugh.

“I’m not expecting charity, I’m waiting for you to name a price,” Hancock said, straight-faced. MacCready studied him for a moment.

“You’re serious,” MacCready realized. Hancock nodded. “What do you get out of this?”

“In a material sense? Jack shit,” Hancock said, taking a deep breath and sighing. “But I’ve become quite sweet on them since they arrived here. And I’ve been rather at risk at acting on my feelings, which they’re definitely not ready for. I was going to hire you to help them as they did their good work around the Commonwealth anyways. This was just fortuitous timing.” MacCready gave a melodramatic sigh.

“I can name any price?”

“Yup.”

“And you’ll pay it?”

“Yup.”

“Over what period?”

“Let’s say two weeks, gives you time to wander and bring them back around so I can see how they’re doing,” Hancock said. MacCready groaned and rubbed his face.

“250 a period?”

“Sounds good. Be ready to go in the morning,” Hancock said, clapping the boy on the shoulder on the way out.

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[thefanficmonster]

Angel With A Shotgun

Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE, Death, Blood and Gore, Swearing

Summary: Being Christopher Smith’s best friend since the early days of army training camps Y/N is more than honored to be going on a mission with him. Little does she know, there are more secrets at play than she could ever imagine. Good thing the girl’s always prepared.

Requested by no one, I’m just PISSED!!! The writers did us dirty AS FUCK and I’m not gonna stay quiet about it so please enjoy this fic and let’s pretend it’s canon. Cool? Cool.

“Careful up there, ok?“ That’s the last thing he said to me before we went our separate ways, following the plan we had conjured up earlier. I knew he wasn’t referring to the bombs I was supposed to plant or the ‘always watch your back, even around allies’ rule. He meant it genuinely. And he meant it for me. That sentence coupled with the look in his eyes when they met mine was enough for me to read between the words and grasp the true message.

And all I could do was offer him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

A smile he vaguely returned before turning and walking off with Cleo and Grieves. And that’s how I remembered him, wishing for that picture to be the one I remember of him in case I die.

In case I die.  I never considered the other possibility.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m gonna do something bad. Something really horrible. But it’s the right thing to do. I must do it. You know I only do things I must, right? You know me.“ He pleaded with me, eyes begging me to trust him as he basically told me he was derailing from the plan we had constructed down to the tiniest detail. 

My hands shook as I adjusted the bomb to the wall, my eyes widening and any words I wanted to tell him dying in my throat, leaving me speechless before him. As if automatically, my head moved on its own, nodding. It’s the only thing I’ve known I guess. Chris says something and I automatically agree cause I trust him limitlessly. Isn’t that how it always is with best friends after all? Can anyone blame me really?

But can anyone also blame me for my gut screaming not to let it go so easily?

There’s no real friends in the field, Y/N. He’s got a mission, you’ve got one of your own. You shouldn’t even be here, goddamn it! Go! GO, right this instant!

Gut feelings, the closest thing to being psychic. And boy does Flag owe my gut feeling his life.

But heroism always comes at a price, doesn’t it? There’s always a reward and a price that you never saw coming in the first place.

The reward is easy to guess, but the price can vary so drastically it can never be measured or foreseen.

That’s what happened to me when I decided to follow Chris.

The task I gave myself upon boarding the aircraft was simple, and the biggest price in my eyes was losing my life but I was already prepared for that when Waller recruited me on the very first mission.

Little did I know the price of saving Rick would be the look of utter betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, looking at me with the same intensity as a hundred voices screaming ‘TRAITOR’ at me.

“I’m sorry, Chris.“ I managed to say, my hands gripping the shotgun with all my might just so I don’t drop it. “You were sent here to cover up Waller’s dirty laundry, and I came here to protect Flag.” I cock my gun upwards, praying Chris doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. “So keep your hands off him!“

He shakes his head, “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Y/N! Him over me?! Some fucking nobody over someone who’s been by your side for a whole fucking decade?!“

I gulp, my resolve only strengthening as a result of his guilt tripping. “You heard me. Friends or family, you don’t get a second chance for being a traitor.”

“Me?! I’M the traitor here?! He just threatened to send our country into chaos because of his righteousness!“ He roared, his gun clutched just as tightly. It may be the tension suggesting it but eventually, I know it’ll come down to who’ll pull the trigger first.

And that realization has cold sweat running down my body.

“Fake peace built atop lies is worse than a war!“ I snap, now aiming my gun at him, determined to be the first to send a bullet flying across the room. Not cause I want to survive for myself. But for Rick. If I die, so will he. Chris doesn’t play fair. Rick is knocked out and Chris won’t even think before turning his body into a bag of bullets. 

I won’t let that happen.

A gun’s pointed at me now too, sending my heart beating louder.

“Then you’ve picked the wrong side.“ He mutters with despise, “If you see me as no friend, I have no reason to hold back either.“

And that’s the last push I needed to send those three bullets I had with his name on them straight into his chest, at least one undoubtedly hitting his heart.

Did it hurt with all the memories we have made together in mind? Of course it fucking did. I may be a soldier/criminal but I’m not made out of stone, damn it.

But did it feel relieving knowing what he was seconds away from doing? Pains me to admit but yes.

With a heavy sigh I sling my shotgun over my shoulder and carefully walk over to Rick’s still unconscious form laying on the tiled floor.

“Colonel?“ I whisper, ducking down to give his shoulder a slight shake, “Flag, please don’t do me like this, wake up. Please wake up, Rick.“ I jump, almost losing my balance when I hear what sounds to be Harley screaming for a brief second before a loud crash echoes above.

I can’t stay here with whatever hell my teammates are going through going on above my head, threatening to wipe them all out and them Rick and me too. So, I make a quick and a rather stupid decision. Slinging one of Rick’s arms over my shoulders I wrap an arm around his waist and somehow manage to hoist him up, bringing him weakly to his feet and earning a small groan from him as if reaching me from the other side of a wall of fog.

“There you are, Colonel. Let’s go, the team’s counting on us.“ I say, desperately trying to push forward with the weight of my shotgun and Rick pushing my already exhausted and weak body down.

“Y/N...that you?“ He asks, his voice groggy, “Or am I dead? Are you an angel? Where am I?“ 

Damn Chris must’ve knocked his head pretty hard, I think to myself.

Just as I’m about to answer, Rick lifts up his hand to run it over his face to help himself wake up fully but he accidentally hits the handle of my shotgun, causing him to let out a chuckle. “Angel with a shotgun, I see. Then it must be you, Y/N.”

“Bet on it, Flag.“ I reply with a chuckle, almost sighing with relief when he manages to hold some of his weight up by himself, “Not gonna lie, you gave me quite the scare.“

“Never gonna happen again. That’s a promise, doll.“ He drawls, his head resting against my shoulder more as an endearing gesture than need for support.

“Better keep it. Not looking forward to finding you actually dead one day.“

“No worries, angel. No such thing will happen.“

“Good.“

He knows better than to disobey an angel with a shotgun. Smart man.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it’ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 14

Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader

Words : 6689

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

********************************************************************

It had been three weeks since Dabi left and in those three weeks you hadn’t heard a peep from him. True to his word he never called you. Shoto seemed to be getting vague updates from Katsuki but nothing that could settle your nerves.

You threw yourself into working out to distract yourself. You refused to ever be weak again. Every day you got up early and hit the home gym that you built with Dabi’s money in his absence. You were surprised how good it felt to spend his money without his permission. You knew he had enough to go around, but it was almost like payback for him leaving you here without him.

The gym was simple. A treadmill, some free weights, and a punching bag.

The guys took turns coming to check on you. Shoto more than the others, which was fine with you considering he was the only one with the balls to spar with you. You didn’t know if they were scared of you, Dabi, or Katsuki. But whoever it was, they were keeping their hands to themselves. And that’s how you ended up here now pinned underneath Shoto’s knee.

“I told you, stop thinking so hard. Your moves are predictable, I can read your every move before you do it. You need to relax and trust your instincts.”

You shoved him off of you and sat up, putting your elbows on your knees.

“I knew I’d be rusty… but I didn’t think it’d take this long to get back into shape.”

Shoto handed you a water bottle and sat next to you. “Well you’ve always been good, but you’ve also relied on your quirk pretty heavily up until now. You’ll get there, just takes time.”

You sat for a while in silence. That’s another thing you appreciated about Shoto. His ability to find comfort in shared silence. He never forces a conversation or pushes you to talk about things you don’t want to.

“So how long can you stay this time?”

His mismatched eyes met yours with a guilty look. “Honestly I’ve already been here a little too long. My shift starts soon, and I have a long drive.” He sighed as he screwed the cap back onto his water bottle. “Last I heard from Bakugo there wasn’t really much change but they’re both still alive and well. I’m supposed to be hearing from him again sometime in the next few days. So, I should have a better update the next time I see you.”

You followed him to the front door, feeling your heart sink as you went. You hated this part. The part when they left. There wasn’t exactly a schedule, they just came and went when they could. It was incredibly lonely when it was just you and you were already getting anxious thinking about it. “I wish he’d just come home already. I hate being here alone…”

Shoto sighed with his hand on the door. “I can only imagine… I’ll see what I can do about getting you some better company. Maybe we can rework our shifts or something… I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out.” He reached a hand out and gently pressed it to your shoulder, “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone, and for the love of god follow my idiot bothers laws.” His eyes twinkled, “Oh! That reminds me…ware your fucking collar… his words not mine.”

Your eyes bulged. Those where the first words you’d gotten from him since he left. Your fingers darted to your bare neck, “I-It’s charging… the battery doesn’t last forever.”

Shoto chuckled, “Well according to him you haven’t worn it for two days. He interrupted my last call with Bakugo just to tell me.”

“I guess I should have known he’d be watching the stats like the creep his is.” You rolled your eyes and tried to suppress the blush that was threatening to break out across your cheeks. Of course he was watching. Watching the tracker to make sure you were where you were supposed to be. Watching your vitals to makes sure you were staying healthy. Watching your call log to make sure you weren’t doing anything you weren’t supposed to be doing.

For the first time since he left you felt an odd giddy feeling. It reminded you of the feeling you’d get when you were in school and a boy you had a crush on liked one of your pictures on social media. It wasn’t direct interaction, but it was a reminder that he cared.

Shoto gave you a quick hug before leaving, reminding you to lock the door as he went.

As soon as you heard the security system signal that is was on, the empty feeling returned. You were alone again. By yourself. With only your thoughts to keep you company… how awful.

You dragged yourself over to the where your collar was charging and put it back on. Your fingers brushed over the familiar material. A warm feeling started to push through the empty feeling in your stomach as you thought about how Dabi was probably checking on you every chance he got. The least you could do was reassure him that you were okay.

Despite being able to talk again you had decided to keep up with the sign language. It was a good distraction and also something really helpful to know. You learned from Shoto that Izuku had learned sign just in case Katsuki went deaf, and he ended up teaching Shoto. So it seemed it could definitely come in handy down the road.

You also spent a great deal of time watching cooking shows and trying to learn some things.

You were never that great with cooking before, hell you didn’t even really know how to efficiently shop for groceries. You were rarely home, and when you were you were ordering in or letting Katsuki cook for you. But now that you were home alone for days at a time, you decided it was time you learn.

Tonight, you watched a video on how to sign different colors and numbers as you attempted to make rice balls. The chef made it look so easy in the video you watched earlier. But so far you were finding it to be incredibly difficult.

You were trying to take this time alone to improve yourself. Now that he wasn’t here it was easier to see how much you had relied on Dabi. You wanted him to come back to a new and improved you.

You sat down to dinner with your pathetic looking rice balls and fought to push down the empty feeling in your stomach once again. The loneliness killed your appetite, you could feel yourself sinking into a funk. Every day it got harder to convince yourself that eating was important, that getting out of bad even mattered, that working out was worth it.

But then you thought about what Dabi would say if he found out you weren’t taking care of yourself. He’d probably bend you over his knee and spank you for even thinking about skipping a meal.

So even though your depressed brain tried really hard to convince you that you weren’t hungry, you shoved bite after bite into your mouth. He’d be livid if you so much as lost a pound while he was gone.

You thought about the way he loved to worship your body. How he groaned when his hands gripped your hips. How his hands traveled up your thick thighs and around to your ass before giving it a squeeze and… great… now you’re working yourself up.

There had been several times your needs had riled you up to the point where you had tried to take care of them yourself. But no matter what you did or how hard you tried, you hadn’t been able to get yourself off. Your hands were no comparison to Dabi’s.

You let out a frustrated growl as you dropped your plate into the sink.

Once again you had this burn in your core that was spreading and you were already frustrated knowing there was nothing you could do about it. You didn’t even have any toys to help and there was no way you could ask one of the guys to bring you one the next time they came. You flushed at the image of Shoto or Izuku handing you a vibrator.

With the ache between your legs only seeming to grow worse, you skipped to your bedroom, well Dabi’s bedroom, but you guess it was yours now too.

You were sweaty from your workout and was in desperate need of a shower which gave you the perfect idea.

You quickly stripped your clothing and stepped into the hot spray of the shower you quickly washed your hair and body before turning the hot water down a little to a nice room temperature.

With nervous hands you pulled the shower head down from it’s spot and played with the settings. You switched between them until you found one that seemed… promising?

The shower head slowly roamed from your neck to your chest, to your nipple. You sucked in a breath as you closed your eyes and tried to pretend that it was something or rather someone else. Your breathing picked up as the spray slowly moved further down until it reached the spot that was giving you all the trouble.

Suddenly a jolt of pleasure ran through you and you had to put a hand on the wall to keep yourself from falling over. A low moan fell from your lips and you rolled your hips against the pressure. “Oh god. Oh shit. YES!” It had been weeks since you last orgasmed and you could feel everything that had been building coming to a climax… literally.

Your breathing became erratic as you imagined rough callused fingers rubbing your clit while wet, sloppy lips mouthed at you neck. Your head swam with desire as you felt the familiar clenching in your core.

Then out of nowhere you felt your pleasure snap as your first orgasm in weeks washed over you in heavy waves. “FuUuck!” Your legs wobbled and almost buckled underneath you. Your orgasm seemed to go on way longer than any one you’ve had in recent memory. It just kept going and going till the point that you thought you couldn’t breathe.

Your legs crumpled underneath you and you fell as your orgasm finally finished.

After a few minutes you used your foot to turn the water off as your breathing finally started to even out.

Your heart practically leapt out of your throat as your collar started beeping with an incoming call. You answered it immediately in the hopes that it was Dabi.

“H-Hello?”

“Y/N!? Are you okay?”

That voice didn’t belong to Dabi but it was probably the second best option.

“Kats? Y-yeah I’m fine. W-why do you ask?” You sucked in a huge breath to help yourself come back down from your high.

“Dabi said he got an alert that your vitals were at dangerous levels. Apparently, your heartbeat was erratic… You workin out or somethin?”

You blushed and cleared your throat, “Or something.”

There was a brief silence on the other end before you heard a muffled curse. “Fuck, okay so you’re more than good.” You could almost hear the blush in his voice. “Sorry to interrupt… have a good night…”

Before he could hang up you panicked and shouted, “WAIT!”

“… Yeah?”

“How are you guys?” You hated how weak you sounded. How desperate you sounded for any update on their progress.

“We’re alive and making good progress. That’s all I can really say right now.”

“Good okay… hey uh Kats… please be safe. Both of you.”

“We’ll try… I gotta go now. Good night y/n.”

Before you could respond you heard the beeping, indicating that he had hung up.

Groaning you picked yourself up and made your way to the big comfy bed that just felt too big now that it was just you. You pulled one of Dabi’s shirts on that dwarfed you and queued up a movie on the TV.

Sleep didn’t take long to take you and your last thoughts were of how monotonous your life was now. You go to bed, wake up, work out, work on Sign Language, watch cooking shows, cook dinner, rinse repeat.

You just needed something to mix it up.

And your wish would be granted not even two days later when Kirishima showed up at your door with pointy toothed grin. “Hey Y/N! How’s it going? Gone crazy yet?”

“I think I went crazy years ago bud.” You giggled as you stepped to the side to let him in. Instead he just stood there looking at you funny. “So are you coming in or did you just drop by to stare at me and leave?”

“Oh! Right? Hold on… close your eyes! I have a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes but complied with a sigh. “Kiri I swear if this surprise is a wet willy, I will hypnotize you and make you pee yourself.”

He was quiet as he tiptoed away quickly. Only moments later you heard the pitter patter of him trying and failing to sneak up on you. You knew he was next to you now, but you kept your eyes closed anyways.

“Kiri what are you—”

You shrieked as a wet tongue licked you from your chin to your ear. “WHAT THE FUCK KIRI!”

Your eyes bolted open to see a crying Kiri holding a puppy. He was laughing so hard you were scared he was going to drop the dog.

You reached out and yanked the puppy from him and could immediately feel yourself sinking into its soft fur. “Oh my goodness! Who is this sweat baby?”

You nuzzled into and started rubbing its soft ears.

“He is your new guard dog. Well he’s more of a guard puppy, but you get the point.”

He started to walk back towards his car, “Wait? Are you leaving already?”

He gave you a regretful look, “Yeah sorry princess, I only had time to come drop off your new friend. I have to go pick up my kid from school, but I think I’m coming back soon. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” With a wink he hopped into his car and sped away.

You were only sad for a brief moment before you scurried back inside with your new friend.

You plopped yourself down on the couch with the puppy sitting in your lap. He was a little ball of fur with big ole paws and floppy ears. From what you could tell he might be an Australian Shepheard. “What are we going to call you huh?”

The little furball cocked his head at you and started chewing on your fingers.

“Hmmm what about Buddy? No that’s cliché. Ajax? He was the strongest warrior in all of Greece.” You watched as the “warrior” in question sniffed his own butt. “Hm maybe not. What abouuuuut… Bravo?”

He looked at you and gave the cutest little “woof”

You smiled and scratched behind his ears. “Okay then Bravo it is. Welcome to your new home sweet boy.”

Bravo was exactly what you needed in order to break out of your slump. You could feel your serotonin rise every day as you bonded with him. He was keeping you company and also keeping you very busy. Between poddy training and teaching him basic commands he was a handful. He loved to follow you everywhere you went and nip at your ankles until you paid attention to him.

It was amazing how quickly Bravo was becoming the most important thing in your life. Since Dabi left you had frequent nightmares that often led to anxiety attacks once you woke up. But now you had a fuzzy four-legged friend who not only woke you up when you cried in your sleep but also laid on top of you until you calmed down. You almost laughed thinking about how Dabi would react when he came home. You knew he’d find a way to be jealous of a dog.

Bravo settled into a routine with you and he never let you out of his sight. He really had the potential to be an excellent guard dog. He was extremely smart, picking up new tricks and commands easily. He was perceptive. And most importantly he didn’t hesitate to attack any of the guys, in his cute puppy way, when they came to visit. He was one hundred percent a Mamma’s boy.

Today had been a weird one. It was officially a month since the boys left. You stayed in bed a little longer than usual but you had responsibilities now and Bravo wasn’t going to let you be sad all day. He decided growling and pulling on your blanket was the best way to get you attention.

“Bravo, no. I know you want to play, just let me be sad a little longer, and then we’ll go outside.” You knew he didn’t understand you, but it felt so nice to just talk to him even if he can’t respond.

Bravo continued to jump and bark at you obviously trying to get you play with him. You rolled your eyes as you threw the blanket off of you. “Alright, alright, I get it. Let’s go outside.”

You rolled out of bed and pulled your hair into a bun. It was cold out now, and it even looked like it might snow soon. You used to love the snow, but the older you got the more miserable it sounded. You pulled a pair of sweatpants and a baggie hoodie on and started to drag your feet towards the back door. “You couldn’t let me wallow for even a couple hours huh?”

You slid the sliding glass door open and Bravo took off into the backyard.

The sky was a dark and depressing shade of grey. You could see your breath escaping you and it made you shiver. “Okay Bruno let’s make this quick! It’s fucking cold…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as Bravo sprinted from one side of the yard to another before stopping to sniff a spot on the fence to pee. “Good boy Bravo… let’s go in now. Eat some breakfast, how does that sound?”

Snow started to fall and before long you could feel it soaking through your hoodie. “BRAVO! You little shit, come on it’s cold!”

He ran towards you like he was going to listen before turning at the last second and running off to the side. You groaned. You loved the dog, but it was times like this that reminded you how frustrating taking care of another living thing could be.

You took a couple steps towards him and he just stood there wagging his goofy little tale. You leapt towards him just for him to run off again in the other direction. “I swear Bravo, if you love me at all you will come to me right now!”

You tip toed towards him slowly, “Come on dude. It’s too cold.” You were so close now, you just needed to scoop him up. You jumped at him but again he leapt out of the way except this time… your foot slipped on some fresh snow on the concrete surrounding the pool… and in you fell.

The ice-cold water cut through you straight to your bones like a million needles. You gasped which was a huge mistake as you sucked in water into your lungs. Now the panic was setting in. The last time you were in this pool you drowned. And this time there was no Dabi to resuscitate you. There was no one here. You could die here, and no one would even know for days.

No, no, no, this was not the time to have a panic attack. You had to think. You had to get out of this pool. But you couldn’t, the only thing you could think was how cold you were, how painful the water in your lungs was, how the cold water felt like you were being stabbed. You vision was blacking out, your limbs were becoming numb, you finally started to try and swim, but your muscles were so sluggish. It was agony trying to get your arms and legs to cooperate. Were you going into shock?

You felt yourself sinking and there was nothing you could do. Your baggie hoodie and sweatpants were only getting heavier on your limbs. It was like you had forgotten how to swim. Or like one of those dreams where it doesn’t matter how hard or how long you keep swimming you never make it to the surface. You expected your life to flash before your eyes, but it didn’t. Instead all you had was fear. Fear and regret. And those almost weighed you down more than your soaked clothes.

You have unfinished business. You had a corrupt hero system to dismantle. You had a life to reclaim. You had… people who loved you, and you couldn’t leave them behind just yet.

You pushed as hard as you could now. You refused to give up. Just before you blacked out your head broke the surface. You struggled to stay afloat as you managed to get yourself to the ladder. You gripped it with all your determination. Your breathing was getting shallow but you didn’t know if it was the panic or the cold.

You screamed as you tried to pull yourself out of the pool. It hurt so bad. Your muscles sched and it was almost like they stopped working all together. You could hear Bravo barking as he paced the side of the pool. As soon as you got your upper body on the concrete Bravo took your sleeve in his mouth and tugged. It wasn’t enough to pull you out on his own, but it definitely helped.

Your body was wracked with shivers. You were shivering so hard it hurt. Your collar was beeping but you couldn’t bring your fingers up to push the button to answer. You were literally frozen… from the cold, from the fear.

The beeping just continued, and tears flowed down your cheeks. All you had to do was move your hands, you just needed to push the button, and you could answer, you could ask for help. You knew Dabi had to have been alerted that you were in danger by now. Someone had to be coming for you.

Bravo laid on top of you licking your face as you lost your mind. The beeping from your collar kept going, and you don’t know what possessed you, it must have been one last surge of adrenaline, your bodies last effort to save yourself. But your fingers crawled towards your collard and clicked the button.

“Y/N! Thank god! I’ve been calling! Are you okay?” It was Kats again. You were quiet for a while as you tried to cough up some water. “Y/n? Are you okay? Or is this another… false alarm?”

You sniffled, “I-I-I F-Fe-Fe-ll I-In T-The-Pool.”

“Uhm Okay? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”

A sob left you, “No! I-I’m Not O-Okay. I-I”

There was a muffled sound on the other end of the call, "Y/n, baby I need you to breathe. I know you’re scared. Can you get inside?”

“Dabi?” His voice filled you with the warmth you desperately needed, but it wasn’t enough to get your body moving. “No. I-Its t-too C-Cold. I-I-“

“Stop talking! Conserve your warmth. Shoto’s already on his way. He’ll be there soon baby. I’m going to stay on the phone with you until he gets there, but I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?”

Bravo curled up next to your neck and nuzzled into you while whining.

You don’t remember passing out. But when you woke up you felt like you were in an oven.

Your eyes slowly opened to find that you were under several blankets with Shoto sitting next to you with his hand on your forehead. “She’s still asleep… but I’m worried she’s getting sick. I’m pretty sure she has a fever.” He was on the phone with someone, “I keep going back and forth from trying to warm her up to cooling her down… Well what do you want me to do I’m not a doctor… Do you know anyone we can trust?” Whoever he was talking too was obviously not happy. “How do you suppose we do that?”

Your eyes closed and sleep claimed you once more. You tried to stay awake, but it seemed impossible. You didn’t even dream, you were just sucked into the black abyss.

The next time you woke up there was a cloth on your forehead and two voices whispering by the door.

“She probably needs an IV at this point. She’s been in bed for three days and she hasn’t eaten anything. Shoto this is more than just a cold. She’s really sick.”

You knew that voice belonged to Izuku. He sounded stressed out. Had he really said there days. There’s no way you had been sleeping that long.

“I agree, but where would we get one? Do you know how to set one up? No? Because neither do I. I swear all of you are crazy. First Dabi rips me a new asshole over the phone about how I was supposed to keep her safe, then Bakugo gives me shit for not being able to find her a doctor, and now you. I’m doing my best!”

You wanted to sit up and tell him you were fine. But you couldn’t because once again sleep was calling you back. The black abyss sucked you back in.

The next time you woke you felt slightly better, your head definitely hurt a little less.

“I can’t believe you idiots where hiding this from me? Did you not trust me, or did you just think you could dismantle the entire system on your own?”

When the fuck did Aizawa get here?

“You’ve been retired for years… we didn’t want to drag you into this.”

A brief silence passed, and it sounded like he was standing up from a chair, “Well I’m glad you did. She was in rough shape. The IV will help. Let me know if you need anything else. And I mean anything. Like you said… I’m retired now so I have a lot of free time.”

You managed to open your eyes, but had to squint at the bright light. “Was that Sensei?” Your voice sounded rough and foreign, but it was unmistakably yours.

Shoto’s mismatched eyes filled your vision, “Oh thank god you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

You tried to clear your throat but if felt like sandpaper, “Like shit…”

He climbed into bed next to you, “When I found you, you had hypothermia. I warmed you up but then you got really sick. I finally caved and had to call Aizawa. I don’t know how he knows how to set up an IV or how he even got his hands on all this medicine and medical equipment. But I’m not going to question it either.”

You leaned on him. “That was nice of him…” Your muscles still ached, and you you’re your skin was so sensitive. You just wanted to pass out again and wake up when all of this was over. “Where’s Bravo?”

At the sound of his name you felt a weight near your feet shift. He got up and made his way to you putting his head on your chest. His big fuzzy head was making you all warm and cozy. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Y/n no, come on I need you to eat something. Seriously, it’s one of your laws, you have to eat, so you need to stay awake.”

You hugged your blanket to you. “I’ll eat when I wake up… promise.”

This time when you slept you had dreams waiting for you. They were all weird and generally involved your time at UA. You dreamt of sports festivals, hanging out with your friends, and training with Sensei. But for once you didn’t have a nightmare. Which was a blessing.

“Wake up… you need to eat something… open your eyes baby.”

You stirred and found that you were laying on top of something, or rather someone. A hand was wrapped tightly around your waist while the other was brushing your hair out of your face.

Your sleepy brain was desperately trying to figure out if you were still sleeping because this had to be a dream.

“Are you really here?”

A kiss was placed on your forehead, “Yes baby, I’m really here. And I really need you to eat something so you can get better.”

His words had your stomach growling, making your groan.

Your eyes opened to find his blue ones staring back at you. The amount of concern in them was startling. “I must look like shit if you’re looking at me like that.”

Dabi didn’t so much as crack a smile at your humorless joke. “Well by law I can’t lie to you… so yeah. You’ve definitely looked better.” His thumb brushed your cheek, “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a shower and a good meal though.”

He helped you sit up and fluffed some pillows behind you. “You don’t have to do all this. I’m feeling better now. I can do it myself—”

Dabi cut you off with a glare. “Does it look like I care. I’m sure you could take care of yourself, but when will you accept the fact that you don’t have to anymore. Stupid girl.”

He reached next to him and picked up a bowl of soup. “This will be easy enough on your stomach. You are going to eat every last bite, and then we are going to take a shower.”

He didn’t leave anything up for debate. It was a demand. “We?”

“Yes we. You’re not leaving my sight for the foreseeable future.” He held a spoon full of soup up to your mouth. You wanted to protest that you could at least feed yourself but quickly thought better when you saw the look he was giving you. He wasn’t to be challenged or questioned.

So, you accepted it and swallowed, your eyes never leaving his. You continued on like that until the spoon scraped the last bit of soup from the bowl. You could see the tension in Dabi’s clenched jaw. He was upset, possibly even mad.

Your eyes averted to your lap, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? What do you have to be sorry about?”

You played with hem of your shirt. Trying to look anywhere but at those intense blue eyes. “I fucked up. I was careless and I… I fell into the pool.” Your fists clenched, “It wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t so fucking weak. I panicked, and it put me in danger. I’m sorry.”

His fingers intertwined with yours and pulled them to his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for, and you are most definitely not weak.” He kissed the tip of your nose, “Look at me please.”

It was so rare that he said please. It sent butterflies through your stomach. You raised your eyes to his once more, but this time they were much softer. “Your panic is totally understandable. If anything, it’s my fault because I’m the reason you have fucking PTSD.” He pressed his forehead to yours, “I feel like no matter how hard I try, I just end up hurting you. Even when I’m not here, my actions still have consequences.”

“Well you know what I think? I think I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. I think you have saved me in so many ways, and you have been there when it matters most. Like right now.” You tucked yourself under his chin and hugged him until you felt the tension bleed from him as he relaxed into your hold.

You felt his chest rise and fall as you both just sat there holding each other.

Finally, he pulled back and sighed, “Okay as nice as it feels to hold you again… you kinda stink… can we go shower now?”

You frowned, “Hey! I’ve been sick. It’s not like I could bathe myself. Did you want Shoto to do it for me?”

He growled and threw you over his shoulder. “You’re lucky. If I wasn’t worried about nursing your sick ass back to health, that comment would have gotten your ass in trouble.”

It wasn’t until Dabi was stripping you down in the bathroom that you remembered Bravo. “Hey! Where’s Bravo?”

Dabi froze, “Who the fuck is Bravo?”

You rolled your eyes, “My dog asshole. Bravo. Where is he?”

He growled, “That little shit wouldn’t let me near you, so I threw him out.”

You pushed his hands away from you, “Excuse me… You WHAT? It’s cold outside. Go bring him inside right now!”

He grabbed your flailing hands and held them down at your sides. “I said I threw him out, not outside. If I had to guess the little runt is probably sitting outside the door to the bedroom, waiting to sink his teeth into my ankles the second I open the door. Relax.”

He let go of your hands and continued to undress you, and then himself. “You be nice to him. That little ankle biter is my new best friend.”

“Hmmm I don’t think so.” His arms wrapped around your now naked body. He picked you up like you weighed absolutely nothing and walked you over to the shower. “I think I’m your best friend.”

You smirked as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Oh you think so huh? So we’re friends now? That seems like a demotion to me…” You kissed his chest before pulling away. “Last time I checked friends don’t shower together… so I guess I’ll just get out and wait my turn—”

“Don’t you dare step out of this shower.” His fingers dug into your hips. “I haven’t seen you in a month, and I had to come home to find you sick and skin and bones.” He leaned in and you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear, “You are mine. I don’t think you truly understand what that means.” He kissed the side of your head, “You are my best friend.” He kissed your forehead, “My responsibility.” He kissed your cheek, “My confidant.” He kissed the tip of your nose, “My lover.” He kissed you jaw. “My partner.” His lips hovered over yours for a brief moment, “My everything.”

His lips smashed onto yours and you could feel all of your little puzzle pieces fit together again. The emptiness you had felt the past month evaporated. You felt whole once more.

There wasn’t anything overly sexual about this kiss. For the first time since you’ve known him, this was the first time Dabi had ever kissed you just to kiss you. And so you let him. You just stood under the water with him and kissed until you started to get lightheaded.

He must have felt your shift because he pulled away from the kiss and pulled you to lean on him. Without another word, he ran a washcloth over your skin and cleaned you up.

You remembered back to the days he’d help you bathe when you couldn’t walk. He’s taken such good care of you without asking for anything in return. So much as changed in the past few months, but there was something about this moment that felt permanent. Like no matter what happens Dabi will always be there to clean you up afterwards.

Dabi could feel the stress and the worry that had piled up over the last month melt away with every rise and fall of your chest. You were safe, you were okay, you were alive, you were in his arms.

Something almost broke in him when he heard the fear in your voice that day. When Bakugo called you after you fell in the pool. He had never felt so fucking helpless. He had a constant eye on your vitals after that. Calling his brother every single time there was even a tiny change. He’d never tell you this, but for a brief moment when Shoto couldn’t get your temperature down he panicked. He couldn’t lose you. Somewhere deep down he knew it was irrational to think you were going to die. But he couldn’t help it. You were sick, and only getting worse and he was thousands of miles away.

There was a constant nagging at the bag of his head of what if he didn’t get back in time. What if he didn’t get to say goodbye. What if… what if…

No. He’s fine now. You’re fine now. He had freaked out for no reason. You’re here, you’re safe, you’re alive, you’re his.

You had eaten the soup, showered, and taken your medication without even a hint of protest. You were being such a good girl for him. Doing everything he asked, never leaving his side.

It was obvious you missed him, and for some reason that made him feel… pride.

Now he had you curled up with him on the couch eating ice cream as you showed him all the things you had trained Bravo to do. You had a glint in your eyes as you commanded the furball to sit, lay down, roll over, and whatever the fuck else you had taught it.

Dabi had this weird feeling settle over him. Sitting here with you in his lap, as you ate ice cream and played with your dog. It felt like you had become… a family.

Family… was never a word that had inspired positive feelings for him. He had terrible memories of his old home life. He had a few fond memories of his siblings, maybe even some of his mother. But everything was overshadowed by the hell his father put him through.

But now he could feel that frozen heart of his, start to thaw out. He still struggles convincing himself that he doesn’t deserve you, and sometimes he still thinks you might be better off with Bakugo. But for now, you were his, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

His hand snaked down and spread out over your stomach and his chin rested on your shoulder. He watched Bravo hop into your lap and had to admit he was a little jealous of the little guy.

“Aw who’s a good boy? Who’s mommy’s good boy?” You squished Bravos cheeks together and kissed his nose.

“Okay enough with the dog. You’ve been loving on the dog since I got home. It’s my turn.”

You scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you feel threatened by a puppy.”

He flipped you over so you were chest to chest with him laying on top of you, caging you to the couch. “Of course I’m not threatened… but I’ve been gone a while and the mutts hogging all the attention.”

You giggled as he nuzzled into your neck demanding that you love him. “I can’t believe big, bad, who’s your daddy, Dabi is jealous of a little puppy.”

Your hands moved, one to his hair and the other snaked under his shirt and scratched his back. He hummed as his lips pressed a quick peck to your jaw. “I missed you…”

Your hands continued to trace patterns up and down his back. “I know. I missed you too.”

His breathing started to slow and he squeezed you closer to him. He started mumbling things as he slipped into the first peaceful sleep he’s had since he left.

“What was that? Dabi you’re mumbling honey.”

He let out a huge sigh and mumbled again only this time slightly louder, “Said ‘m gonna putta baby in you.”

*************

*The Laws* 1. No fucking shrugging 2. No drugs 3. No saying sorry for something that isn't your fault 4.We work on communication every day 5. Wake up whenever the hell you want 6. No locked doors 7. We eat three full meals a day 8. No means no, no negotiations 9. We work on exercise every day 10. Ice cream must be kept in stock at all times 11. Accept help when it is offered 12. No lying 13. I will not initiate the sexy time without written or verbal consent.

************

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99 @squichymochi @sarahschance

[pontevoix]

character study  --- body | tsukishima kei 

hair: naturally blond, naturally curly hair. in highschool, he keeps it short because it’s easier that way —- it curls more politely short in that it only curls with slight cowlicks. that aside, he feels very shorter hair makes him look & feel a little more . . contained somehow. it makes him feel a little less soft. but —- he lets go a little; he doesn’t stop by the barber quite as routinely as he did, &

his hair starts to curl around his ears. it threatens almost ringlets, &

tsukishima doesn’t do hair product. there’s no winning when his hair just waves when he sweats — but his hair is fine, & he learns to put a little something something in there to make his hair a little more reluctant to frizz.

eyes: they are light brown; they are little more prone to light sensitivity & sometimes they fleck/flick with green to surprise the world with hazel. his vision is not severely weak, but everything blurs real fast. he & he thinks of his eyes solely in terms of his eyesight. of course, he has tried contacts before. he doesn’t like wearing them often though after he got freaked when a contact got stuck when he was eleven. he just knows that he shares an eyecolor with his brother & with his mother.

his eyes are part of a family.

lips: he ready to frown. i just wanted to type that lmao. his lips get sunburned sometimes. his chapstick always finds a way to fall to the bottom of his bag, & it’s not worth shuffling through all of his belongs so he just gives up.

face: his eyelashes are pale; dark blond — he sunburns, & when he flushes / blushes . . . it makes slow but steady process to color his entire face. it’s a slow process, though, & it’s only somewhat subtle because it shows up on his cheek bones & he will not be developing smile lines at his eyes, but most of his smiles are a little posed until he

laughs. then it’s a little mocking sometimes, but the smile relaxes a little. becomes more genuine.

he shaves four times a week with a vehemence unless he is in a place where he doesn’t have to exit his home for days at a time unseen. no one needs to see the way he becomes peachfuzzcentral when he doesn’t shave.

his skin is normal/combo/oily & he doesn’t break out much.

neck & collar: he’s got a freckle/mole/birthmark in the middle his left collarbone. he still sunburns easily. as he gets more flustered or overheated, the flush travels down his neck to his sternum.

arms: tsukishima has a scar on his right bicep from where akiteru accidental burned him with edge of a pot when kei was seven. he hadn’t cried, but he had scrunched his eyes up for ten minutes straight without opening them. he gets fresh stretchmarks on his upper arms when he’s seventeen & focusing on some arm strength routines.

he gets goosebumps on his forearms pretty easily.

hands: callused at the knuckles, callused around the fingers, & his ring finger on his right hand is a little crooked, a little jammed —- but he never lost mobility. he didn’t wrap his fingers as tightly as he intended to when he was in highschool, so they just … got over strained sometimes. he got those long ass fingers —- pianist’s fingers as the kids say.

he clips his nails biweekly; he doesn’t know much about filing & doesn’t care. he gets hangnails fairly frequently, & papercuts even more frequently. he doesn’t like wearing a watch because he’ll just have to take it off again ?

back: once again, he also he has a few freckle/mole/birthmarks on his back —- & stretch marks that are a little more violently purple around his back as well. they keep fading with time off & turning pale pink but . . . they make him vaguely uncomfortable to think about.

boy’s got good posture though. his brother used to poke him in his back to make him sit up straighter as a kid —- granted, akiteru did it because their mother also did it to both of them.

torso: noodle man. he wraps his arms around his stomach when he laughs too hard to protect his gut.

hips: they do in fact lie. he’s got a really pointy hipbone, though. also his hips get tight really easily, & he has to spend an extra three minutes doing runners lunges or figure four stretches when . . . annoys him because sometimes long legs just aren’t supposed to stretch like that.

legs & knees: the noodle man continues. long legs, & his knee pops sometimes. it takes him by surprise every time, & if he’s not mid-game ? he’ll stop midstep to make a face about it. his gait is really long, & his natural habit is to walk pretty fast . . . when he’s alone. if he’s walking with a group, he almost dawdles a bit. he just doesn’t want to be in a position where he’s walking at the front of the group.

the back of his knee is sensitive, & he jerks if he’s tickled there —

worth noting that the hair at his legs & arms is pretty fine.

also, tsukishima walks in a very straight line. impressive.

he always wants to stretch out his legs, but usually waits until he has some sort of break to stand & pace to stretch them out.

feet & ankles: ngl to u i don’t like thinking about feet so i’m not gonna go too thoughtful here but boy trying to wear akiteru’s old shoes as a kid before someone realized he was falling more often than he usually did — he bruises easily, so it really showed on his knees & calves too. turns out he’s got smaller feet than akiteru &

all i can say is he always makes sure he’s got clean socks for practice. he’s not playing that game. akiteru’s old shoes were not a great smell.

scars: there’s a small scar on the bridge of his nose — a basketball smashed into his face & broke his glasses. the glasses frame dug into his skin in precisely the wrong way. he’s got a burn scar on his right bicep from where akiteru accidentally knocked him with a hot pan. stretch marks.

misc: he gets cold easily & stays cold for a long time & much prefers to have a sweatshirt most of the time. he also gets migraines once every couple months & feels a little nauseated when he sees grease dripping from food.

height: he takes pride in it because he has to do. it’s something that people identify him by; he’s sometimes conflated to his height, so —— it just is. that’s a part of a larger conversation, too. he’s just used to being tall, & sometimes knows that it makes him stand a little awkwardly.

clothing: he goes for neutral clothing. he’s always got to have a belt, because pants tend to hang a little too loosely around his hips, & most of his pants as a kid were a little short on him. he doesn’t really like clothes shopping so he’s a fan of having a small selection of versatile & somewhat professional looking attire. he has never been a skinny jeans person ( looking at u kuroo ) & actually tends to go for looser fitting clothes. he likes to be comfortable.

sensory points: he likes the smell of laundry; he isn’t a fan of the sound of car doors slamming —- wool makes his skin feel dry & he prefers to have on socks when he’s walking around the house. it’s a start! also candles make him sneeze & even if he’s cold he sneaks to stand in front of fans in the gymnasium as though it’ll make him sweat less 

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 7

First

Previous

Sorry the chapter is late my schedule got thrown off by a hurricane

Three days after they arrived in Gotham, they officially ran out of cash.

Honestly, it was a wonder they had even lasted as long as they had. Who knew that rich kids had so much money just laying around? Certainly not her, if she had she probably would have reconsidered rejecting Adrien’s old offers to date to make their fans shut up... because damn.

Now, they sat outside Drake Manor.

Marinette sat, back resting against the gate, playing a game with the baby. In an effort to soothe the kid’s need to fall from high places, she had tossed him a foot in the air and then caught him. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to help, but it did entertain Damian. He giggled like a madman (mad...baby?) every time she did it and would yell ‘up!’ every time she tried to stop. Her arms were tired. She’d been doing this for what felt like years, and would be doing it for many years to come. Save her.

The only person that could possibly save her was, unfortunately, busy with other things.

Tim was applying for credit cards. He had stuck his computer and phone through the gate to get their wifi so the company wouldn’t be suspicious (Marinette said they probably wouldn’t be but the king of paranoia had insisted) and was now pressed up against it as far as he possibly could, arms poking through the bars to keep working.

“This is only until we have enough money to get on our feet,” Tim said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tim, I know.”

He nodded a little against the bars that were pressing against his face and allowed the subject to drop -- for now, Marinette knew it was only a matter of time before he said it again.

“At least one of us needs a job at WE, that’s the only way both of us would be able to send the kid to daycare.”

Marinette stopped tossing Damian, considering, only to immediately start up again when the baby screamed “UP!” at her.

“Probably me,” she said, finally. “The you that lives here is a direct competitor, you might get recognized.”

He nodded his agreement.

And then she sighed and set Damian in her lap because her arms were physically unable to lift him anymore. Damian screamed at her but she just wrapped her arms around him tightly and pet his hair until he relaxed.

When he finally shut up, she said: “You know we’re going to have to wait for both of us to get a job.”

He paused in his typing. “What do you mean?”

“Since it’s WE, they probably have pretty thorough background checks. Two adults that seemingly have lived here their entire lives getting a job at pretty much the exact same time is… more than a little suspicious.”

He pulled his head back from the gate and she wondered idly if he was finally done, but then he just knocked his forehead against the bars. There was a resounding clang that neither of them minded, all of this world’s Drakes were currently at work, and he groaned.

“Yeah, that kind of screams ‘we’re using fake identities’, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

He groaned again, louder this time.

“I can stay at home,” she offered, somewhat reluctantly. “I can cook.”

He sighed and shook his head as much as the gate would allow. “No. You’re probably going to have an easier time getting a job, WE accepts basically everyone. We need money, so I’ll be a stay-at-home dad.”

Oh.

She smiled a little and looked down at Damian, who was currently petting her hair like she had been petting his just a few moments before. She blinked but reciprocated the action. Damian lit up and reached his hands up so he could get more of her hair.

She leaned down a little and nuzzled her nose against Damian’s.

She glanced up and saw Tim checking over what he had done so far, apparently thinking the conversation over.

Marinette hesitated. If she really wanted, she could just let the conversation drop.

She mumbled a quiet: “... thanks, Tim.”

He didn’t look up from his screen, but she could see the pink tinge in his ears. “It’s fine. I don’t even know what I’d do yet. I’ve only ever had one job and I got it because of nepotism.”

She grinned. “From rich kid to even richer CEO to trophy husband.”

“Oh, how the mighty hath fallen.”

She felt a hand tug her hair and looked down to see Damian pouting, so she started running her fingers through his hair. It was getting kind of long, she wondered if she should get it cut. She didn’t want it to get caught on something, the kid could get hurt.

A thought occurred to her. She glanced at Tim out of the corner of her eyes. “You know… you’re taking my name and I’m going to be the one getting money… maybe you should grow out your hair and I’ll cut mine. Y’know, to really get into our roles.”

He huffed a little. “Shut up.”

She laughed. “Fine. But, really, I think you should grow your hair out. It’d be pretty.”

The both of them tensed at the implications of what she had said. She wondered if she could play it off as a joke… or maybe she should apologize? The blush that had tinged his ears was now creeping down his neck. Was he embarrassed or flustered or angry?

Before she could figure out what to do, Tim’s phone rang.

He fumbled for the phone and pressed it to his ear, successfully hiding the rest of his face from her view.

“Hello?... yes, this is Timothy Drake… yes, I just applied for a new card… I figured I would have a backup in case one of my others got stolen, you know how it is… can I have the card information in advance?... great, thank you!”

He hung up and turned to her, smiling widely.

“We have money.”

She didn’t react how he expected, no playful grin or witty remark or even just a smile. Instead, she doubled over with laughter. Damian whined a little in protest as she threatened to squish him.

He frowned confusedly. “What?”

She motioned vaguely to his face, giggles still spilling from her lips. “It’s just… you’ve been leaning against the gate for so long that it’s made little lines in your face.”

He huffed. “It’s not that funny.”

She managed to get her breathing under control again. “It’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She opened her mouth to continue the dumb little argument they were having but then Damian yelled: “NO!”

Tim lit up. “HA. He agrees with me.”

She gasped. “Dami, how could you? You’re supposed to be on my side,” she said with an over exaggerated pout.

Damian looked up at her pout for a moment before slowly leaning forward and attempting to wrap his arms around her middle in a hug.

“Oh,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair a few times. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“Weak,” Tim teased.

She looked over to send him a glare, but then she saw the fond smile on his face and relaxed.

“I am. Look at him. He’s so cute.”

“Yeah. He is.”

~

Tim leaned back against the bed frame.

Marinette was out at a job interview for WE. He hoped she got it, he didn’t know what they’d do if she didn’t.

But, he didn’t really have much time to think about that. He was on baby duty.

He’d gotten better at dealing with Damian while doing things, it seemed. He had found a position to sit where one knee was pulled to his chest and the other curled close to him, his legs acting as a chair for the kid. One hand held the kid’s bottle as he drank, and the other scrolled through apartment options on his phone.

They’d probably be in an apartment for at least a while. He didn’t know how homeownership was in this new version of Gotham, but in the old one if you were able to afford a house on your own then you were an immediate target for thieves.

So: apartments.

They could probably get away with a one-roomer, at least while Damian was young. It wasn’t like they needed much room for him, anyway, they might even get rid of the crib since it didn’t look like either of them had the willpower to leave the kid in it all night.

Damian slapped the bottle away, apparently done despite only having drank… all of it. Huh, he must have been more out of it than he’d thought.

He turned off his phone and looked down at the baby. Damian looked back up at him, giving that wide-eyed stare babies were so fond of.

Tim cracked, a smile making its way across his face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his little brother’s head.

“So, kiddo, what do you want to do?”

Damian babbled at him in an authoritative tone. Tim nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood him and was truly considering the idea of whatever it was he said.

“Interesting idea. I think we should watch TV. Sound good?”

Damian nodded, though Tim really doubted that he had somehow managed to say the exact thing that he had.

He pulled the remote out of the bedside drawer and started flipping through channels, looking for something that was bright and colorful enough for Damian to enjoy it but at least semi-decent so Tim wouldn’t be bored out of his mind.

He came upon Monsters LLC and turned it on. While Tim agreed that, considering the way that Mr. Firenoose acted, the company would totally be an LLC, it just didn’t have the same ring to it as Monsters Inc. So sad. The kids of this world were missing out.

At least Damian seemed to be enjoying it. He gasped and pointed at this world’s version of Sully and yelled “KITTY!”

Before Tim could correct him, though, the knockoff Boo said the same thing.

Great. Well. He supposed the kid was close enough. At least there were no monsters in this world for Damian to mistake for cats. It wouldn’t come back to bite them. Probably.

And, so, that’s how the day went. Tim and Damian sat in bed, Damian leaning back against Tim’s chest and watching his movie, a new bottle of milk half in his mouth. Tim scrolled through apartment options on his phone, picking out a few to check out over the next few days.

After a while, Marinette slipped in. She kicked her shoes off, letting them fly in opposite directions, and then trudged across the room.

She dropped onto the bed face down beside the two boys and Tim frowned.

“I’m guessing that means it didn’t go well?”

“No, I got the job,” she said, her voice muffled. “They said I could start tomorrow if I wanted.”

“... then…?”

She slowly picked her head up. She looked absolutely exhausted. “I’m an intern.”

… yikes.

He hesitantly reached a hand out and patted her head a few times.

She rolled her eyes and pulled a pillow to herself so she could scream into it.

Damian looked away from the movie, eyes wide, and then looked at Tim like he would somehow know how to fix it.

… he probably was supposed to. He was the adult here and, supposedly, married to her.

But Tim was a bat. So, he pulled a classic bat move:

“Want to spar?”

“... kinda,” she admitted. “But what about Damian?”

Damian was currently entranced by a movie about… was that unicorn eating trash?

It didn’t matter. (It totally did. What the fuck was going on in this movie?)

Tim smiled. “I’m sure that Kaalki and Tikki can warn us if something is going to happen. Not that it looks like anything will.”

Marinette hesitated before breaking into a smile. “Okay, let’s do it. I’ve been feeling a little antsy.”

He gently picked up Damian and set him on the bed, telling the kwamis to keep him safe for the maybe ten minutes they would be distracted, and then led Marinette a few feet away so they could let out a little bit of their excess energy.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[alisonsfics]

Outsmarted the King

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: The BAU is discussing a case and then Y/N proves she may know more than Spencer does.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of victimology, no actual description of a crime though. All the facts that I mention are completely made up.

The day had begun like so many other days. The BAU was working a new case in Sacramento, California.

The team was all gathered in a room that the local police station had set up. “Maybe we’re looking at this wrong. There is no connection between any of these victims. They’re different races, genders, religions. Maybe there is a connection that we aren’t seeing” Hotch said, sounding frustrated.

The team hadn’t gotten anywhere. There were no suspects and not even a single witness.

“Reid, does Sacramento get many tourists?” Hotch asked, turning to Reid. “Not many, most of the people in Sacramento are locals. They have a large agricultural industry, meaning a large percentage of their population is farmers that are kept here for work” Reid stated.

You thought for a second about an article you had read on the jet. It was about the increased amount of tourism in Sacramento.

“Actually, that’s not true. Tourism populations have been increasing in Sacramento over the last couple of years” You corrected, not trying to offend Reid, but trying to make sure the team had all the correct information.

You saw Morgan’s eyebrows raise, as he glanced towards Emily. “Did she just?” Emily whispered. Morgan slowly nodded.

You looked over toward Reid, trying to gauge his reaction. It wasn’t often that Reid was corrected. Hotch looked unsure of what to do. “Garcia, look up tourism populations” Hotch said, to Penelope, who was already on the phone.

“I just did sir, Y/N is right” she said, sounding stunned. “Maybe that’s the unsub’s motive. He’s a local, he’s lived here his whole life. He feels a connection to Sacramento. He notices more and more tourists coming and he feels threatened, like they’re going to take away his small town” Morgan suggested.

“That’s it, that’s the connection. All three of your victims were visiting Sacramento, from out of town” Garcia said, on speaker. “So we’re looking at a local, who’s lived here his whole life. He’s involved in the community. We need to go back through our suspect pool” Hotch said, exiting the room.

“You’ve got guts” Morgan whispered in your ear, as he followed Hotch out of the room. You looked towards Reid, he displayed no emotion. He quietly left the room. “You did it Y/N, you beat the king” Emily said, patting your back as she followed the others.

You wondered if you had just destroyed your relationship with Reid. Was he offended or simply disappointed that he didn’t know something?

It was nearing the end of the day, Reid hadn’t spoken to you all day. Hotch had just called and told the team that him and Rossi knew who the unsub was, and they were going to bring him in.

The whole team waited anxiously around the phones, waiting for some word that Rossi and Hotch had got the guy.

Then the front doors of the police station opened and in came Hotch. He was followed by Rossi, who had the guy in handcuffs. The whole team breathed a sigh of relief. Emily and Morgan walked over to Hotch, to figure out how they knew who the unsub was.

You peeked over your shoulder and saw Reid alone, in the separate room the police had set up for the team. “Go talk to him” JJ said, giving you a weak smile. You stood up and took a deep breath.

You carefully walked in the room. Reid didn’t even look up at you. He was too busy reading through files.

“Hey Reid” you said, trying to get him to at least look at you. “Yeah?” He said, still engrossed in what he was doing. “We got him, Rossi and Hotch just brought him in” you told him.

Reid looked up finally. There was still no expression on his face, just a vague glance. “I have to go ask Hotch about something, I’ll be back” Reid said, walking right past you. He didn’t even acknowledge what you said.

You sighed, feeling stunned. You had figured that Reid would be mad at you. You just didn’t think the silent treatment was his style.

The door opened again and JJ walked in this time. “Has Reid ever been mad at you?” You asked JJ. “Uhhh, no not really. It’s kind of hard to make Reid mad” JJ said. She didn’t know how to help you, but she wanted to try.

“I never thought he would give me the silent treatment” You said, still confused. “Just give him time. He always knows everything, all the time. This might be a lot for him” JJ said, encouragingly.

“Yeah, I bet you’re right” you said, starting to pack up all the team’s files. “He’s still Reid, and he can’t stay mad at you forever. You two are practically inseparable” JJ told you.

The whole team was sitting on the jet, riding back to DC. It was quiet, most of the team was either sleeping, reading, or listening to music.

You spotted Spencer, sitting by himself. He was just staring out the window. “Go try and talk to him” Emily whispered in your ear. She was sitting right next to you.

You sighed and then stood up. You carefully walked over to him, trying not to wake anyone up. You didn’t want to startle him, he seemed really spaced out.

You lightly placed your hand on his forearm, still standing. His eyes flicked over to meet yours. “Can I sit?” You asked him, softly. He gave you a small smile and nodded.

You sat down, across from him. “So what’re you thinking about?” You whispered. “I’m gonna go get some coffee” Reid said, standing up. You sighed again to yourself.

How long would it take for Reid to talk to you again?

Then, a split second later, Reid reappeared by your side. You felt him lightly tap your shoulder. You turned to look over at him. “Do you want some?” He asked me, kindly. “Yeah, that’d be great” you said, smiling to yourself.

It was a small step, but it was a step in the right direction. You couldn’t help but have a smile appear on your face.

What you didn’t know was Morgan was watching this whole encounter. And now he had the biggest smirk on his face as he saw you with the expression of pure love. He also saw that same look on Reid’s face, as he went to grab the coffee.

For a while, Morgan had known that Reid and you had some repressed feelings for each other. He was always trying to convince the rest of the team of it.

Reid came back to your seats and handed you a lukewarm cup of coffee. “Thank you” you said, sincerely. Reid gave you a half-hearted smile.

“Do you wanna talk about...” you began to ask, but before you could finish Reid shook his head no.

Looks like you were back on thin ice. Reid didn’t talk to you for the whole rest of the flight. He didn’t even look in your direction.

The jet landed and JJ and Rossi went straight to their cars to go home and go to bed. You walked into the bullpen with the rest of the team.

You started to collect the rest of your stuff from desk that you needed to take home. You had put it all in your bag, when you saw Spencer walking over towards the kitchen. You hooked your arm through your bag and followed Reid.

“I give up” you told him, as he poured sugar in a cup of coffee. “What do you mean?” He asked you, looking over at you in a concerned manner. “Whatever this anger you have towards me, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made you upset. But I hate this silent treatment, it’s horrible. You’re my best friend Spence” you confessed to him.

“Mad at you? I’m not mad at you” Reid said, confused. “But, I corrected you” you said, shocked. “Yeah, well I was wrong” he said, matter-of-factly. “But you haven’t talked to me since. You’ve barely said a word to me” you told him.

“I was just thinking. If you hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t of caught the unsub. If the team had just relied on my information, we would have had the profile wrong. My lack of knowledge could have messed up the team. I wasn’t mad at you, rather impressed” he said, looking you in the eye.

“You, Spencer Reid, were impressed by me? You better be careful or I might get an inflated ego” you joked with him. “I’m always impressed by you. You’re funny, smart, pretty, and a good leader” he said, like it was a fact that you should’ve known.

“You think I’m pretty?” I asked him, smirking to myself. “What? I didn’t say that” Reid said, with panic written on his face. He clearly hadn’t meant to reveal that. “Don’t worry, you’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy” you teased, loving to watch him flustered.

“I...um” he said, completely at a loss for words. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow?” you asked him, making the move he didn’t want to make. “I would really like that” he sheepishly admitted.

taglist: OPEN

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character!!

Requests OPEN

[personuhh]

okay so awhile ago you posted something about Yosuke (crazy, right?) and in the tags I believe you mentioned something about how you don’t like Yosukes parents? Could you elaborate? bc I have not stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it (sorry this is so vague my memory is horrid skjdjfjgj)

OYSUEJGHHBKEJHDSGVDH oh my god okay SO. At first I just got ~vibes~ from him... like, I couldn’t quite pin down what made me think he had abusive parents, because obviously he never says anything to indicate it explicitly, but then I started noticing... small things.

I don’t want to say outright that I think they’re abusive (physically or verbally) and I also don’t think that Yosuke hates them, or necessarily even sees anything wrong with how they treat him, but I do think that their behavior has severely impacted Yosuke and led to a lot of the negative traits he displays.

To me, the most telling example is this conversation where he talks about Teddie being praised by his parents for being “thoughtful” very pointedly in front of him. It seems to be a reoccurring thing where they compare him to other people (primarily Teddie) and make him feel inferior. Yosuke’s a bit of a pushover, and frequently gets taken advantage of monetarily, and in this case he’s caved and lent Teddie a significant chunk of his savings for their trip to Tatsumi Port Island... only for him to spend it on presents to suck up to Yosuke’s parents which makes Yosuke look unthoughtful. Yosuke clearly sees it that way, even if Teddie hadn’t intentionally planned it out from the start as such (he calls Teddie “surprisingly shrewd”).

Yosuke gets told off either because a) he didn’t want to fight back/argue, and instead just took a passive stance instead of telling his parents that he was the one to lend Teddie the money in the first place, and thus didn’t have any left to buy them gifts, or b) his parents think so little of him that they don’t believe him at all. He specifically says he doubts his parents understand, which makes me think that he did try to explain the situation.

There are also several instances of a large Junes event being Yosuke’s responsibility, or at least of him thinking that he has to scramble to make things work, like the Junes concert, where he says he’ll have to move away if it doesn’t pan out; maybe this is his own thinking, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if it was something his dad said to scare him into helping, especially considering he MUST know that Yosuke is friends with Rise, or the time during the summer where he calls Yu and begs him to help out. Yosuke isn’t a manager, but he’s still got all the responsibilities of one, and even tries his best to work out other employees’ problems as well (look at his SL).

The Junes concert in particular really sent up some red flags for me, especially because Yosuke says this.

“Awfully nice for some reason”?

Yosuke’s got terrible self-esteem, there are countless times where he’s shown to be overwhelmed and embarrassed by completely genuine praise from his friends. In one of the drama CDs he mentions that he intentionally doesn’t try his best in school because he doesn’t want to disappoint himself by doing poorly while also knowing that he gave his all. It really makes me think that his parents just have an abysmally low opinion of him, and he’s adopted that same view of himself.

There’s also several scenes where he talks about his parents finding his porn (or Teddie showing it to them) and in his SL he says his mom “read the title out loud to [his] family” which on top of obviously indicating his family is pretty conservative about that kind of thing, also means he’s had to learn to be secretive with them to some extent. In Arena, Yosuke’s mother goes as far as burning the porn Teddie finds. Even if it's meant to be humorous, Yosuke's property is still being destroyed.

Now these next few things are more... abstract and can definitely be argued, but personally I still find them important to point out when discussing the topic.

Yosuke obviously struggles with toxic masculinity, and similarly to Kanji, feels like he needs to be the ideal, strong man that protects the weak, etc. Even without looking at specific dialogue, you can tell that Yosuke’s been raised to think he needs to be a “real” man, that displaying more “feminine” behaviors is a sign of weakness; because that isn’t just subtextual, it’s something he very visibly displays, it’s part of his arc. He can’t mourn and cry, he has to get revenge (because he couldn’t protect Saki at the time and he watched helplessly as she died, it makes it his fault), he says hugs are for girls (a common sentiment, but he had to learn it from somewhere), and any time he slips up and reveals his actual feelings, he has to overcompensate, let everyone know that he’s just your average teenage boy who’s definitely interested in women. Yosuke’s not the most masculine guy, he likes fashion and cares about his appearance (the bar is so low) and I’d bet that if he were given space to explore his interests without any expectations, he might actually find he’s into stuff that goes against what he’s been taught. He admits to liking crossdressing, then walks it back; not because he’s ashamed of it (on the contrary, once he realizes people found him cute, he openly brags about it), but because he thinks he SHOULD be ashamed of it.

It’s why he feels so threatened by Kanji, who completely takes him by surprise when he realizes his outer appearance and interests don’t match up. Now Yosuke’s got to compete with Kanji over who’s the manliest, show that he’s not like Kanji, because Kanji’s already accepted that side of himself, and it totally goes against everything Yosuke’s been taught to think is “normal”.

So then we look at lines like this.

On its own it’s nothing special, but it’s not just the slogan itself, it’s the way that Yosuke specifically says that his dad is still saying it. Combining this with what I mentioned previously about Yosuke’s behavior, and a few other tidbits, like Teddie mentioning that he watches violent war movies with Yosuke’s dad, it definitely makes me think he’s the type of guy who’d try and push Yosuke into being more masculine, being a traditional, unshakable, unemotional man.

Lastly, there’s the recently identified album on Yosuke’s shelf in arena, and what do you know, one of the songs on it (The Chain, by Mr. Big) has these lyrics...

In my mind, I see Yosuke’s mother as an incredibly controlling, strict woman who expects her son to be utterly perfect, and even when he’s good, it’s never good enough. Yosuke’s father is busy with Junes, and while he isn’t around the house too often, Yosuke sees him at work quite a bit, large and in-charge, not allowing anyone to see weakness, he leans on his son because he can’t bring himself to ask for help. Yosuke’s left to pick up the slack, and he’s taught by example that relying on others is cowardly, that being intimidating gets you further than being “nice”. Even though Yosuke obviously goes against this, he can't fully commit for fear of standing out and disappointing his parents, and that makes him passive; he ends up being a pushover, and neither of his parents are happy about that. He’s a “disappointment” to them, it’s one of his defining traits that everyone loves to bring up. It's something that's shown to really get under his skin, but he can never do much more than get angry, because he truly thinks he is a disappointment, he doesn't think highly of himself, even if he protests.

Maybe I’m reading into all of these things a little too much, but... I don’t know, I’ve said it before, but I just don’t see how half of Yosuke’s personality would have been shaped by anything other than his parents being Not Great.

[discotreque]

LwD 2.05: An Embarrassment of Dooplers

So I was a little nervous about this one! I hadn’t heard any spoiler-spoilers, but screeners have been out for weeks now, and I’d heard a bunch of individual, vague, non-spoilery hints about (1) big character moments, on the scale of a mid-season finale even though the show’s not taking a mid-season break; and (2) an ending that would make me cry.

I guess I imagined something relatively serious and dramatic, like “No Small Parts”? This show makes me cackle with laughter and giggle with nerdy glee and “d’awww!” at heartwarming friendships every week, but it’s only ever made me cry once—and then I was impressed that they were going to get there from the wacky hijinks we saw in the brief teaser.

The lack of a cold open made me apprehensive too—in my experience, that’s typically a sign that there’s so much plot in the rest of the episode that they need that extra scene—but after ~21.5 minutes of aforementioned hijinks, I was having so much fun that I’d completely forgotten about the alleged tear-jerker at the end…

…and they were not the tears I was expecting.

I didn’t think I’d be smiling and crying!!!! That was wholesome as SHIT!!!!!

I almost can’t believe they earned that—but they totally did.

After a Mariner–Tendi episode and a Boimler–Rutherford episode, we’re back to the “usual” Season 1 pairings… except the relationships between these characters have changed since Season 1. Mariner still feels thwacked in the abandonment issues by Boimler bailing for the Titan, and Rutherford’s having a tiny little existential crisis about losing an entire year of his life.

Both of which are extremely understandable and very heavy situations—and both of those situations get resolved because everyone in them is vulnerable with each other and honest about their feelings—AND that honesty and vulnerability brings both pairs of friends closer together. Are you kidding me?? I would watch SEVENTY seasons of that shit. Put it in my veins.

Onto the notes:

So basically Dooplers are Tribbles, but for cringe comedy instead of slapstick? Ohhhhh boy.

Look at Ransom the diplomat, tossing his own fork on the floor! I like that he’s actually a pretty competent Starfleet officer, despite also being a completely ridiculous person.

Wait a second, is that—OH HOLY SHIT, THE DOOPLERS ARE VOICED BY RICHARD KIND.

It makes sense that B. Boimler would find William annoying—who likes seeing their own flaws reflected back at them? And who could be a better reflection of one’s flaws than one’s literal duplicate?—but most interesting to me is that it implies on some level, Bradward knows the stick up his butt is a flaw. (Does William?)

Why does the Cerritos model have working phasers?!?!

I’m loving hot pink as the currently en-vogue colour for “dangerous sci-fi energy” in animation (cf. almost every previous episode of this show; Into the Spider-Verse; other stuff I can’t remember right now). As a former child of the 80’s, I’m living for it… but as a former teenager of the 90’s, I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to age as poorly as the harsh neon green of The Matrix, every Borg appearance on Voyager, and like 80% of the websites I made in high school…

SKANTS! SKANTS! SKANTS!

That fake-out joke with the fly-by over the Cerritos model was in the season trailer weeks ago, and I was so enthralled by that handsome lady that the sticker coming into frame still got me good 😂😂😂

BECKY Mariner????? omg yes

Some top-quality Boimler screams in this one. Poor Jack Quaid must drink gallons of throat-coat tea when he records.

One of the great things about Star Trek to me is that you never know what you’re going to get from any random episode. A murder mystery? A road trip? A spooky thriller? A cheesy romance? Broad comedy? Body horror? Didactic political screeds shrouded in tissue-thin science-fiction metaphors? Brain and brain, what is brain??? And after this many years of watching, you’d think I’d be hard to surprise. But if I ever told you I thought I’d see a Blues Brothers–style car chase through a frickin’ shopping mall on an episode of Star Trek, I would have been straight-up lying to you. I loved it, it worked for me, my jaw was on the floor and I was clapping with joy—but I’m definitely comfortable calling this one “unexpected.”

It’s CAPTAIN SHELBY!!! And an ancient babydyke crush rose from the depths of my childhood subconscious… (Also I think her Number One is based on the original makeup—eventually deemed too complicated—for Saru? Now that’s a deep cut.)

In 20th-century Trek, you almost never got to see what was going on inside a starship from the outside. Even after they switched from physical models (where it was next to impossible on a single episode’s budget) to CGI (which was still in its infancy, still not exactly cheap, and still broadcast in SD anyway), it was a rare thrill to see any meaningful interior details in an exterior shot. Disco’s modern VFX have given us some tasty, tasty treats in that department, but nothing quite as sublime as all the pink Doopler light glittering through the Cerritos’s windows.

Mariner says she’ll take her contact Malvus down with her, and threatens that they’ll end up “in the same cell.” Malvus is a Mizarian, a species introduced in TNG’s “Allegiance,” in which Captain Picard is held in a mysterious prison with one. I think I see what you did there, McMahan?

Bartender… so hot… lesbian circuits… overloading…

The Tendi and Rutherford C-story was, well, a C-story within a 22-minute episode, so there wasn’t much to it, but the one scene that mattered actually mattered a lot. I’m ambivalent on whether they should end up romantically involved—I’d prefer they don’t, but they’ll be one of the cutest couples in Trek history if they do—and as long as they keep that pure, sweet friendship between them at the heart of whatever else happens, I’m on board.

Carol Freeman was already one of my favourite captains before this season, and she’s been steadily moving up the list. The quiet throughline about her ambition to be on a better ship has been fascinating so far, and it’s starting to actually make me feel a little conflicted: I’m of course rooting for Captain Freeman to recognize her worth, make Starfleet recognize her worth, and become the ass-kicking captain of a hero ship that she’s clearly ready to be—but that almost surely means she’d be kicking ass off-screen, because LwD isn’t about those kind of adventures, and I’d be devastated not to have Dawnn Lewis on the show every week. So I’m kind of on the edge of my seat about this one!

I had so many favourite jokes this week I put them in a separate list:

“Even the replicated water on the Titan tasted better” is a low-key brilliant dunk on people who can’t shut the fuck up about the cooler places they used to live.

“Ooooh, they have a Quark’s now! That used to just be an empty lot where teens would make mistakes!” ← That’s literally me every time I go back to where I grew up. I felt so Seen™ I almost hid under a blanket.

“I would never go down the stairs!” (evil grin) (goes up the stairs)

The “well, shit” expressions from Mariner and Boimler as their crashed car sank right into the water… which started to bubble innocuously… and then the bottles of Data bubble-bath popped up, paying off a joke I thought had already been paid off—that was the one that woke up my poor cat this week. Just exquisite timing.

“YOUR PAGH IS WEAK, AND IT DISGUSTS ME!” “I don’t even know what that is, but I don’t like your tone!”

“Okona’s in there? He’s not even Starfleet! This is outrageous!” made me shout “NO!” at the screen like I was scolding my cat for scratching furniture. (She did not wake up that time.)

Best background joke: the neon sign at the dive bar advertising FREE SHOTS & BEERS. (Get it? Because they’re on a Federation starbase? Where nobody uses money?)

And of course Quark merchandised DS9.

This wasn’t just a standout episode of Lower Decks, this was a brilliant episode of Star Trek, period. The Dooplers, though extremely silly, are nevertheless also a clever sci-fi metaphor for real and relatable personal/interpersonal issues, and an effective plot catalyst for meaningful character growth from all four of our ensigns and the captain.

The jokes were hilarious, the action was kinetic, the A-, B-, and C-plots linked up thematically, the visuals were consistently and thoroughly gorgeous, the character beats—between Mariner and Boimler, Tendi and Rutherford, Mariner and Capt. Freeman—were all genuine, heartfelt and wholesome, and the references to other Trek canon were both deep and deeply affectionate.

Only 15 episodes in, and this series knows exactly what it is, exactly what it wants to do, and knows that it can knock our socks off doing it. Mike McMahan has said in recent interviews that the back half of S2 (and the apparently almost-fully-written S3) is a straight line uphill in quality from here—which surprised me at first, because McMahan seems like a pretty chill dude who doesn’t normally brag about his own work like that.

But then the Prophets sent me a vision of my space dad Ben Sisko, who reminded me of the words of 1930’s baseball player Dizzy Dean:

“If you can do it, it ain’t bragging.”

[Thanks to cygnus-x1.net for the screenshots this week—I was too lazy to do my own.]

[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back

Hello and welcome to the sequel to my work i will make the sky collapse! You honestly do not have to read the first one to understand this one--the first was a Crutchie-centric whump-focused refuge story, and this one is about his recovery and Jack coming to terms with what happened (and maybe some,,, sprace).

So yeah! This is chapter one! Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter :) This is a queued post, so as soon as I have time to post it on AO3 I’ll update this with the link.

cw: blood, brief description of injury

~

On the same day they won the strike, there were a good dozen kids clamoring to be a newsie, appearing out of nowhere with the sole purpose of bothering Jack. He didn’t really want to care--they could be a newsie all they wanted--but the problem was they all needed a start-up fund. They all wanted Jack to foot the cost of their first papes and first week of room and board, and though he had just gotten a job offer and an improved living overall, he just didn’t have the time or money to train so many penniless kids. So he sent them to Spot Conlon, of course.

It was pretty clear that these kids all came from the Refuge, which had just been shut down by the governor. Jack had never been happier than he was when he saw the cop drag Snyder away in chains. The nagging question that was slowly coming to the front of his mind, though, was where was Crutchie?

Katherine had been here for the short celebration, but had seemed distracted and had left almost immediately, without giving Jack a chance to ask after his brother. He wanted to go look for the kid, comb through the Refuge and the streets surrounding it, but Davey had regretfully told him he couldn’t leave. He was the union leader, and a nice official union it was at that. He actually couldn’t even sell right now, he had to return to Pulitzer’s office and continue working on a bunch of paperwork registering the union or something. Pulitzer had told him that they would be working together occasionally due to his new position as leader of the Newsboys Union, which apparently meant that whenever there was a problem on either of their ends they had to include the other in their solving of the problem. It made sense to Jack, what he didn’t get was why he had to read a billion papers telling him it made sense.

Katherine did not ride with him and Mr. Pulitzer in the carriage back to his office, and she didn’t come and see him when he left late in the afternoon, but maybe she was just at work. There was a lot to report, after all. Jack wished it didn’t hurt. There was no way it was intentional, they all had a lot going on right now. It wasn't like he'd gone looking for her, after all. He'd see her tomorrow, cross paths on the way to work.

What with all the stressful arrangements and intense discussions, Jack was more tired than he usually was by the time he entered the lodging house. In later days, he wished that he had spoken to Mush, waiting anxiously outside. He wished that he had not gone with Pulitzer to his office, and instead sought out Katherine straightaway. Most of all, he wished that he had gone personally to the Refuge, made sure to set those kids free himself.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. Instead, he walked home from Pulitzer’s office, nodded to Mush, and went straight inside.

-

Katherine was there, which was odd, but certainly not unwelcome. According to Race, she had spent time with them without him, just celebrating with them and getting to know them all. That was fine, but most girls didn’t seek out a bunch of street rat teenage boys as preferred company.

Not only was Katherine there, but half of the newsies were seemingly just waiting by the door, dropping what they’d been doing and standing to stare at him. Sure, Jack was something of a celebrity now--and he had betrayed them more than once, which could be the reason also--but they looked almost guilty.

“Jack,” Katherine started, and Jack saw that sorry look on her face and his heart dropped. What could this be about? He’d been with Pulitzer all day, so it wasn’t like the old man had turned on them. Where was Crutchie? Was he--he couldn’t be. Right? No.

“Jack,” she said again, and now she was crying. Jack wanted to kiss the tears off her face, tell her she never needed to cry again, but he couldn’t. He had to know--his stomach was roiling, threatening to toss up whatever bite he’d eaten earlier. Something had happened, and it--it couldn’t be--

“It’s Crutchie,” Katherine said, and Jack had a brief moment of huh, so that’s how swoonin’ feels before he was on his knees. He can’t have died. Crutchie was--well, Crutchie. He was just as capable as any newsie, could sell papes twice as well as half of them, and was stronger than anyone Jack knew--certainly far stronger than himself. But if Snyder--if the Refuge--if--

“He’s alive,” Katherine hurried to say, kneeling on the floor beside him, and Jack let out a choked laugh, only just realizing he was crying.

“Ya couldn’ta said that sooner?” he asked weakly, and Katherine sniffled, trying to regain composure.

“He’s alive,” she repeated, “but he isn’t doing well at all. He wanted to see you, but I think he’s still asleep.”

In seconds, Jack was back on his feet, pulling her up with him. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her towards the bunkroom. “I gotta see ‘im.”

He ignored her cries of “Jack, wait, you have to know--” and took the stairs two at a time, yanking open the door as soon as it was in front of him. The room was dead silent for once, and only one bed was occupied (despite the fact that he’d told Romeo to rest up today after the strike). Over by the open window on the far wall, a figure was laying in the only bed without a top bunk (the one that belonged to Jack, seeing as he was in charge).

Jack could barely hold back a retch as he came closer, seeing the matted hair crusted in blood, but sticking straight up, same as always. Crutchie was sleeping almost peacefully on the bed, the blankets tucked around him messily, as if one of the boys had tried his very best to arrange it like a mother would. His face was swollen and cut up, almost unrecognizable as his brother, though his neck was what caught Jack’s attention. A brownish-purple bruise in the vague shape of a gripped hand was found there, where the fingers had dug in marked by little round black bruises, a sick imitation of a constellation crossing his brother’s throat.

Jack’s fists curled into tight balls as he stared down at Crutchie, seeing red. The rest of his body was hidden by the covers, excepting a stiff arm that was tightly wrapped in gauze. The collar of his undershirt was the only part of his clothes visible, and it was stained brown and torn. 

There were two sides of Jack warring for dominance. One screamed at him to storm down to the county jail right this moment and give Snyder everything he deserved. The other side tried to pull him to the floor, weeping at Crutchie’s bedside. Jack fought both, not wanting to seem weak in front of Katherine, who was watching him with that soft-concerned look on her face that he had already come to know too well. He needed to get alone, needed space, needed a moment to cope with what he’d just been confronted with so that he could best help Crutchie later.

Jack calmly left the room, replying something along the lines of fine, just need a minute when Katherine asked tentatively if he was okay. Then he walked slowly down the steps and through the main room, where all of the newsies watched him silently. He nodded vaguely in their direction. Luckily, none of them asked any questions. If they had, Jack wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to hold back the sobs.

Finally he was outside, and here he could run. Run he did, all the way around the side of the building and up the fire escape, running and running until all that existed was the clang! of his feet against the metal and the wind rushing past his ears. Then he was climbing the ladder to the very top, where only a week ago he and Crutchie had woken, excited to start striking for real.

Jack had woken early that morning, and had taken the time to sketch out the New York skyline against the starry night sky. It was a frequent subject of his, but that morning he had filled in himself and Crutchie, sitting on the roof closest to the perspective, curled up and reaching toward the stars.

When Crutchie had gotten up, they had made mundane small talk, both trying to hide nervousness that showed too plainly. They eventually stopped talking around it, laughing and joking about it directly, before deciding--no, vowing--to not let the other come to serious harm or danger. Then they had gone downstairs, ready to wake the other boys and get on with the revolution.

The last promise--maybe the last one ever--that Jack had made to Crutchie, and he’d broken it not even hours later. On the rooftop now, Jack kicked the low wall angrily, then again and again. What was wrong with him? How could he focus so intently on these--these mundanities, paperwork and politeness and whatall, while Crutchie was suffering so? How had he not been here for him, when he arguably needed Jack more than anyone else at the moment?

He kicked the wall one more time, then threw himself to the floor. What kind of leader was he? He’d betrayed everyone, almost left Crutchie; then when he’d gotten his head on the right way, he hadn’t done anything to make sure the kid was all right!

“Jack?”

Katherine. She would come up here, tell him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want that. It was his fault, and he couldn’t have anyone denying it or he might just explode.

“Leave me alone,” he called back, barely keeping his voice from breaking. Silence, then a sigh and the sound of soft footsteps going down the fire escape. Good.

Jack drew his hands across his face, taking in a shuddering breath. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t dream about leaving anymore, that would just make things worse. He had to be here for Crutchie, and the other boys. Prove that he wasn’t a scab.

He hadn’t eaten any supper, but he didn’t really care. It was dark enough that he shouldn’t have a problem resting. Add it to the tired ache in his bones and he’d be out in no time. He’d get up when everyone else went to bed, then he’d stay up the rest of the night with Crutchie, be there in case he had nightmares or woke up. He had to be there for him. He had to.

[thefanficmonster]

Pretty Boy

Daniel x Taylor [The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope]

Warnings: SPOILERS for the game Little Hope (minus the ending because this is a whole Alternate Ending), Vague mentions of Injuries and demons, Canon-typical fear and terror, Swearing

Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Alternate Ending, Song fic

Summary: That hellish night from Daniel and Taylor’s perspectives described through the lyrics of The Neighbourhood’s ‘Pretty Boy’

Requested by my best bro @hopeveon I heard the world needed more Daylor content and I thought I should rise to the occasion. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Even if my heart stops beating you’re the only thing I need, ooh, with me

Her heart nearly leaps out of her chest as they’re pulled into one final flashback to the past she’s wished countless times to never see again, tonight or for the rest of her life.

To say Taylor has had enough would be an understatement. 

She’s by no means a weak person. Of course, she’s human which automatically comes with its emotional disadvantages but she’s never let them show. She’s mastered the power of the poker face and the ability to shake off anything and everything with just a shrug of her shoulders.

And everyone fell for it, mistaking her for a bitch who couldn’t care less about anybody else but herself.

But then he came along.

Even if the Earth starts shaking you’re the only thing worth taking, ooh, with me

As the floor rattles beneath his feet, the walls shaking, threatening to collapse and kill everyone within them, the only person he cares about or is able to think about is her, Taylor.

Daniel was the person who vowed to care less in life from a certain point onward - that point being his last break up with a very awful girlfriend that was just a walking red flag. He didn’t see that though, the love he had for her made him colorblind.

At least until that flag smacked him square in the face, smashing his idea of love to pieces.

That’s when he swore that he wouldn’t rush into it ever again, would not let his world get tilted out of balance like that ever again.

But then she came along and it was as though he personally shoveled all those thoughts up and tossed them out the window.

Screw the vow, listen to your heart - he told himself, and it’s a good thing he did because his heart told him she would be different. It would all be different.

Even if the sky’s on fire got you here, it’s alright, ooh, with me

She’s independent, so much so she can come off as high-strung sometimes. But that independence wears thin when you’re staring death in the eyes. When demonic claws are reaching for you with no intention other than harm.

That’s when she rushes into his embrace and wishes for it all to be over - for his arms to hold her tightly and protect her through it all until the sunlight peeks in through the darkness as a beacon of hope, promising them salvation.

Because right now, this whole night in fact, he’s been her salvation.

And if it’s all over I’m taking this moment, ooh, with me Yeah

Eventually it ends. Everything that starts has to end, right?

So it has and has left them all in one piece with shards of who they were now left behind in that house.

All this time he hasn’t once let go of her, he’s been holding her as tightly as he can, a human shield between her and all the bad around them. His firm embrace a silent promise that he’ll do all in his power to keep her safe.

And that’s indeed what he does.

Even when it’s all over, when they’re out of that hell-hole of a house, he takes a moment to hold her just a bit longer, not ready to let her go yet.

He takes a moment to hold her in the relief much like he held her in the fear. He curses it for being so short of a fragment of time when he knows he could hold her forever.

Pretty boy, you did this with me, boy Now it’s all about to end

She only comprehends that they’ve stepped out of the nightmare and into the light when his hand clasps hers, the reassuring squeeze freeing her from her hectic thought she can’t get the hang of.

And yet they magically sort themselves out when her eyes meet his. 

It makes sense. His presence in her life makes sense, the warmth of his gaze and touch, the comfort of his smile. It all makes sense and it all adds up to create a fire in her chest, surrounding her heart, melting the leftover ice around it.

Much like she’s unknowingly done to him.

Baby girl, look where we made it, girl Hmm, now we’re falling

If only he possessed healing abilities, he’d run his fingers over each and every bruise and scar. He’d make it go away, take the pain away. But alas he can’t and he finds himself feeling it too. It’s not his own wounds burning and stinging, it’s a pain deeper than that.

It’s a pain that’s shared willingly, not forced upon the other person. It’s pain that serves as evidence of their love.

And as much as it hurts, it’s more bitter than sweet - especially when they can stand here in the longed for sunlight and let out a sigh of relief, mark their accomplishment of surviving hell together.

Together.

As long as I got you I’m gonna be alright As long as I got you, yeah I’m not afraid to die I’m alright

They’re alright, they’re safe and ok in the most basic sense - whether they’ll be ok minutes, hours or days from now is up in the air. It goes without saying that this night has left its mark on them and will hold them in its clutch for an undisclosed amount of time.

But, right now, all they can do is wait and see and for the first time, maybe that isn’t so bad.

There’s comfort in the peace and quiet even if it may be between two storms with the second one waiting to take ahold and last longer than the previous.

Regardless, they know they’re going to be alright, one way or another. Taylor will always have Daniel’s shoulder to cry on, his arms to catch her when she’s about to fall and his eyes to ground her in reality when all else gives and lets the horrors of her mind take over.

Daniel will always have Taylor’s hands holding his cold and shaky ones, her lips to plant a kiss on his forehead when a rough nightmare jolts him out of his sleep, her voice to lull him back into slumber, her fingers to run through his hair soothingly, promising him safety.

They’ll have each other, and as long as that’s the case, they’re gonna be just alright. Everything that starts has to end and so will this upcoming storm - it will end and they’ll come out of it with their hands intertwined, proud survivors that couldn’t have made it out alive without one another.

Wherever I’m going I’m happy you’re coming, ooh, with me

I’m lucky you’re with me

@artlovingbre  @megandaisy9  @lavadoge  @sparrow-gg  @squirreljoe  @nyctophiliiiiaaa  @ateliefloresdaprimavera